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31. March 1, dusting
March came in like a lion,
not with a roar
but crouching in the weeds
stalking its prey
before springing

32. Early March, dusting
A dusting of snow
in the late season cold
tracing the outlines
of grass, bark, and wood chips
and painting the shingles
and tops of the walls
with a delicate brush tip.

33. Early March, less than a dusting
As I do each morning
I opened the blinds
and looked out the window
Just to see the world wake up

And, really? I thought. Again?

And really, I thought,
it hardly earns the word “snowfall”
a few flakes barely graying
the grey winter grass in fact
I had to look twice
and put on my glasses
to be sure.

And yes, there it was.
Just enough
to put you off poetry.

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