Daylight Savings

An extra hour of sleep is snow-ushered in

as if time and the elements colluded.

And yesterday the city’s good citizens

were raking last leaves, tarping

patio furniture. Even us. The garden draped

in crackling blue plastic

weighted with old-fashioned bricks.

                           One day into winter

and we’re surfing foreclosures

on Vancouver Island. My bed calls,

the window draws my heavy eyes

to the white sky and raspberry canes

bent under the fresh weight of snow.

Winter wipes away.

It calls for snowy owls.

Unburdening.

And Qualicum Beach: oldest mean population

In Canada. Will I surrender? 

The neighbours did not get their trampoline

packed up. Nail-sized icicles decorate

the eaves of the dilapidated garage.

A woman in the alley sweeps heaps of snow

off her compact white car

and it stops resembling a sleeping polar bear.

The skeletal plum trees’ throw graphic shadows

against the cedar fence. The light sharpens

and before my gaze the snow-garden softens:

cat’s paw-prints across the deck

become pocks, become larger nothings.

Winter advocates slowness. It compels us

to sincerely see.

Qualicum: republic of retirees.

Difficult to fathom green winters.

Nights without a furnace’s calming push

of heat.

An extra hour to these new days.

I allocate mine to snow.

-Shelley A. Leedahl