Winter days outside the house

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All around me the
Frosted white wind whistle
Everything is unseen unless
Within my cold arm’s length

I stand out in
My black jacket
Black to keep the heat in
To stay warm but it’s not working

I shiver, grit my teeth against
The biting, stinging cutting cold
Wish I was inside, wish I were
Anywhere but here

I can’t see a single thing so I look down
At my black nylon-clothed arm and
I was frustrated and angry
It is wet

However, a dry spot can be found on the
Underside of my sleeves
Raising my hand, I turned them over
The dry spot exposed, now I watch

A tiny six-sided blindingly strikingly stunningly white
Object land
Intricate crystal by ways forever
Unbeknownst to me

Just over the horizon a great machine of death is roaring and rearing
We can hear it always
Earthquake, starvation, the ever-renewing sun of corpse-flesh.

A snowflakes that is wonderfully
Delicately and daintly made
Pure
So beautiful and so amazing