Saturday Snowfall

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Saturday Snowfall

The trees reveal their skeletons, 
their nakedness exposed to all 
by winter’s way of revealing our
dependencies, but sitting in
the kitchen by the space-heater, pen 
in hand while the timer clicks the pot 
on brew, I am content and fed
and caffeinated—but then again 
so were the Israelites, the manna
floating down from heaven like
today, and out they scrambled, tried
to hold security in baskets
weaved of reeds, tried to save
until tomorrow gifts not for 
tomorrow, collecting snowfall for 
the spring then cursing as it dripped
and crawled with maggots in the night.
Content and fed and caffeinated,
a muffin steaming on my plate,
remind me this is enough,
sufficient.

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