As a Child, I Dreamed of Warm Snow

the snow here
is not even cold
it does not settle
it is
like a visiting artist
setting up in a small gallery
and then tearing down its show

When I was small (the "Heater Feet" days),
I dreamed of warm snow.
Fluffy white sledding hills like down comforters
burst open
not the sort of snow
that seeps through your snow pants
to make your skin cold, wet, red.

Now, as I carefully pack away
my books
photos hanging on the walls
come down
Christmas decorations duct taped shut and
check the weather
for our trip home to Michigan,
I am reminded that snow
doesn't really seem like snow
unless you can feel it
recognize it
become tired of it.

To live in a place with no true four seasons
is to live in a place where change comes
when you bring it about.