the thought of six keys

Always with the first snow
come those moments of reflection,
of contemplating the future, a surrender
to maudlin thoughts of the past,
nostalgia swept along by tiny
flakes, a desire to shake them off
as the snow melts when you walk into
a warm room.

Still devoid of reality,
still strongly rooted in a fantasy
played out on a reed-pipe.

The verbose wind chooses sudden moments
to let thoughts trickle into the world
and before you hear your shoe crunch,
the wind picks up once more.