This Kind of Snow

There is a chill to this April day,
With white skies too bright
Without the sun's yellow filter,
And wind too sharp

Against my skin.

Shielding my face,

I gaze down at my feet

Only to be surprised by

A gathering of pink teardrops.

In spite of the cold,

I smile at the colour

And into the blaze of blossom

That is above me,

Blocking out the stark white wall

Of cloud.

Now, the same sharp wind blows

Petals down, past, around me

So I stay.

I concede under the trees

That I am grateful

To be under

This kind of snow.

Literary Vegan