Flurry

Lightly falling snow.
Whisp'ring wispy flakes
swirl and shift on quiet air.
Icy liquid dust.

Beneath the silent flurry,
chasing in the wind
every trans'ent sparkling gem,
their beauty to behold,

I race, catch, arrange,
interlocking spokes
of every white kaleidoscope
into a grand design.

Patterns in a pattern.
Intricate, sublime.
Quickly, now! Quickly sort!
Their time's so short!

Brows dewed with sweat.
My artwork turning wet.
As I strive the more to build,
shapes no more descend.

Gone, the sights and sounds
of gently falling clouds.
The air, itself a downy quilt,
might have curled around me.

Oh, the fall I wasted
savoring what fell!
For lack of stillness, beauty's lost
and I the lesser still.