Sisyphus

The snow descends...
At first, just a whisper,
and then, full-throated roar,
that blows and buffets the house.

I watch in awe as the drifts begin
to climb the rock-lined drive,
and creep on cat-feet
across garden and lawn.

I layer myself
with hat, gloves and more,
put on warm boots
and go out to address the snow.

This is not the light Christmas fluff
that begs children to make snow angels.
It is thick and wet and each flake sticks
to whatever it touches first, upon landing.

I feel old as I realize
I cannot lift a full shovelful.
So, like baby-steps,
I heave each half-shovel to the side.

I know I'm doing what's needed.
But, discourage just the same,
turning to see the stealthy snow
fill in the furrow I just made.

So I try in vain to keep ahead
of the snow god's breath,
as the gasps of my own breath
become ragged and hoarse.

I go in when I finish
the first of many passes.
Stand at the frosted windowpane,
sip coffee and watch the snow