On a sunny winter day
when jackets held little heat
weather forecasts sent us up the mountain,
our first trip to the snow.
Only snowmen had liquefied like a western witch,
snow angels had fallen from grace.
We were left sloshing through sad puddles
ankle-deep in disdain for weathermen.
There were no laughs between us,
her demeanor solemn
as if in a funeral dirge for snowmen.
It was our last trip to the snow.
It was our last trip.

As she often expected,
I apologized for mistakes not my own.
Perhaps Channel 2 News was merely the prophet
forecasting an icy blizzard in her heart.
There was no shelter from her storm.