A few of us left remember the days
when the sky didn't rain poison.
When instead white flakes of ice
would dance down from up above
graceful, serene, beautiful
and coat the earth in a light dusting
of sparkling white snow.
Sometimes it would fall quickly,
blowing about here and there,
huge tufts that glistened in the headlights of cars
moving at a snail's pace on Highway 53.
It was bothersome,
it irked us to no end,
our horns blaring one after another
echoing over the long lines of metal and rubber
blacks, blues, and greens
but hell if we could tell,
all that could be seen was white
and when we finally did reach our destination
work, school, home,
we'd shake the winter from our coats
and vow to never venture outside again.
It would pile higher and higher,
the grumbling of the man clearing his driveway
lost in the cry of the ambulance rushing to aid a car that swerved off the road.
But we would give anything for those days,
the sounds of children laughing as they form snowmen,
a worried voice calling them in,
"Come in before you freeze to death!"
the taste of too-hot cocoa on their eager tongues
as they sit in front of the television and watch I Love Lucy reruns.
The days when we didn't have to worry about nuclear warfare
and the collapse of civilization
the valleys of lush green hills and white snowy mountains
melting into a desolate wasteland.
Or maybe we did.
But that wasn't what we woke up to each morning,
it wasn't our tragic reality,
it wasn't the image we saw when we opened our eyes.
In a world where hatred and darkness reign supreme,
the clean, captivating snow is just a memory.