April Snowfalls

Another arrived last night.
A fresh batch
to paper the landscape
in whitespace miles,
ready to record
the black print
of our gritted boots
and the unfortunate scuffles
of our inside animals.
A temporary ledger
tracking
our comings and goings,
our ins and outs.
We anticipate the fattening
of daylight hours,
noting the inverse relationship
between millimetres of powder
and the mercury of degrees,
our infant estimations
stumbling to predict
when the final storm
will clock across the finish line,
while the old rock below us
turns
under the small frictions of our feet.