Snowing

I wake to unearthly quiet--

a distant jingle that could be Santa,

wending his way home--

but it’s a few days too early

and a more wakeful me would recognize the sound:

chains on snowplow tires,

gnawing on the pristine landscape of King Street,

making ready for the inevitable

daily influx from suburb to city--

a slow one today,

judging by the almost-silence,

yet to be broken by

newscasters

measuring, pointing, questioning,

warning, freezing, gesturing

reporting

the overnight everyday miracle

of snow.