Sky: “Hey man, wanna snowjob?”Guy: “It's up to you. It's down to me.”

^{Ice crystals reflected by the sun, La Patrie. January 2006}

Winter as it comes to an end
its last-ditch struggle thus begins
sending down from its den
that it forgot before to send

In a forthnight shall we say
white powder came our way
Blinding us all, yes sir
as the sun was shining blurred

Not a moment too soon
Indeed well before noon
shovels tricked out the sudden sway
not without contempt and dismay