Memoirous

I awake under my warm blankets in my little loft My nose close to the ceiling where my breath and The frigerator humming down below create its own heat After climbing down, the cold ceramic tiles stun the feet I hustle to my toilet, as cold as an outhouse, soon though The thermostat is pushed up and the tiny house is cozy And the light is on, paler light still outside my window, trying trying To wake up the world, the sky almost a haze, then The first specks, not even flakes, more like paint splatter appear Dotting the deck, optical illusions, almost, could be But soon the leaves are covered in a carpet of white and a hush As it comes down, ticket-tape confetti to celebrate the season It’s November and the bare trees hold forth catching snowflakes On their tongue boughs, the first taste of winter   We expect an inch or two