Falling Snow

On those cloudy early evenings of
winter months is conjured up a certain chill,
even in the steam of this tropic place.
Unlocked are stored up memories
of other winters long forgotten.

There the sounds of evening traffic and the city’s
passing life are muffled deep within a wintery baffle.
This quite broken only by the occasional and
repetitious clunk of a carelessly fastened snow chain,
against the undercarriage of a home bound car.

Distant neon lights cast a crimson glow across
a charcoal sky while tiny bits of frozen heaven
twinkle as they float within the range of
endless strands of street lights.

Now I stand upon that deserted
street in black snap up boots,
feeling that refreshing chill again.
And all is silent, except for the
sound of falling snow.