Yesterday I drove to the snow,
. thought a bit of you
. a bit of me,
and the clouds, huge,
pressed against the mountain,
seemed to be waiting for the sun
to back down, so freely
they could roam the sky.

I wonder, would you think them cowardly,
sitting on the mountain's edge
like Mother Nature's Cinderella,
alone at the ball
fingering a strand of pearls,
not quite comfortable
in the power of magic?

I prefer to think them polite,
standing down like the step sisters would have
if Cinderella had once, found her voice.

You, my darling, would see yourself
the sun, the hero
asking only the chance
to share the sky;

Oddly enough I would agree,
still, hardly oblige.