First Snow, Best Snow
By Connolly Ryan
You remember the first time
it snowed on your world?
To your little body and giant eyes,
the snowflakes looked like
and gyroscopic carousels
spinning ever so slowly
and quickly at the same time.
And how, after hours of watching
snow fall, you ventured outdoors,
bundled in so many layers
you forgot you had a body at all.
And then, there it was: the neighborhood
transformed into an arctic prairie,
cars either gliding like snails in a dream
or stalled in the middle of the polar street,
being pushed by sudden model citizens
who only yesterday worshipped indifference
but were now intoxicated by their civic duty
to help their trapped neighbors along.
Parked cars were buried so deeply
they resembled hibernating beasts,
onto whose hoods and roofs we
weightlessly pounced, roaring
like beasts ourselves, before diving
into the powdery depths miles below,
disappearing into the shivering grace.
Do you remember the first time
it snowed on everything you knew?
The sky waving its vast wand until
familiarity morphed into fantasy:
the everyday effervesced
into a miracle of novelty
and every footstep you took
felt intimate and timeless
as you were still young enough
to see how seamless the space was
between what was magic and what was real.
Do you remember that feeling?
That feeling remembers you.