Weather Watch

Heavy snow and roads
so icy, cars swim
through shoals of frozen fog.
I turn around
three miles out,
retreat to my cabin
in the North Hills.

Through the round window
a triangle of blue
surrounded by roses
of clouds unfolding--
beyond a darker swath
blurs the horizon
warning of more storm.

Frivolous to write
of nothing but weather
when soldiers follow orders
to drop bombs on strangers,
when families leave blankets
in homes claimed by bankers,
when the bright river where we
once caught rainbow trout
with our bare hands, now
swills with brackish foam.

But mountains spew themselves
to sand, the mightiest pine
will blaze up into ashes,
while this sky abides,
the most constant presence,
even as it folds inward
and pelts the roof with hail.