Brooklyn Snow
I wake early, as planned,
to be the first to set foot on the snow.
From the rooftop, I survey the city,
to see where the snow has touched,
the first, from my vantage point.
I step outside my building.
At first, no movement, no sound,
but the trees around are
heavy-laden with snow on their branches.
I hear soft puffs of it falling to the ground
and the crunch beneath my feet.
It’s only during the first snow
that I notice the muting of the everyday trappings,
the smell of fireplaces drifting from brownstones,
the flickering gas lamps lining the street.
There’s a strange freeness in this quiet,
a sense of traveling through time.
For a moment, I imagine the past,
but I know I wouldn’t belong there.
And so, I return to today,
exploring,
feeling like I’m the only one who lives here.
I walk down the avenue until I see the first person.
We lock eyes,
as though we are the first people
to discover this land.
I turn the corner,
and go home.