A Gasp and a Sign

 
 Overnight
 unseen arriving
 the one, the only
 snowfall 
 to mark the season’s
 presence and passage.
  
 Soppy, slushy, slippy
 already retreating,
 but snow nonetheless,
 an unusual occurrence
 in The Levels where
 the land rests low
 and the water table rides high.
  
 Snowdrops appeared
 a few days prior
 delicate blossoms
 bright green and white
 against the muddy woodchip,
 though made of sturdy stuff,
 these harbinger flowers.
  
 Together
 for a moment
 ephemeral snow
 enchanting snowdrops,
 Winter’s last gasp,
 Spring’s first sigh. 

Mulch for Memories

 
  
 Time
 does not behave
 now as it used to,
 or perhaps, just maybe
 from such slowing down
 its behaviour 
 is more noticeable.
  
 Bound in places,
 held in spaces
 what happens
 to spacetime,
 when space contracts,
 time constricts?
  
 Seeing no one,
 unless observed remotely,
 from windows walking past,
 or in virtual space 
 in real time – 
 What then is real?
 What is time?
 What is space?
 Or 
 Where is real?
 Where is time?
 Where is space?
  
 What have we become?
 Who are we becoming?
  
 Going nowhere beyond the shop,
 necessities seem more necessary,
 for they are the reason
 to leave one’s space for a time,
 venturing to other places
 masked and distanced.
  
 Unable to trust anyone,
 who knows when or whether
 a stranger or a friend
 carries the contagion,
 making us wary
 as in every moment life’s time
 for each individual
 crawls and scurries onward.
  
 What is lost of time’s trajectory,
 no less precious for its ephemerality,
 no less regretted for what feels like
 its wasting,
 differently experienced now
 slipping past day on day,
 hour by moment
 for a nearly a year gone forever?
  
 Shards, scraps, shreds
 of time tumble
 in free fall as
 autumn’s leaves
 landing silent and mostly unremarked
 forming mulch for memories.