Snow

I can smell the snow
not cashew's bittersweet amarige
or chocolate's moist debauchery
but the dry, crisp, shaved ice grasp

The first time I became completely enamored
piled up on mountains
snowboarders coming down on Snoqualmie
going back up on the lifts
I think it was cold
but I don't remember if it was
lost in complete wanderlust
it was so... alpine
so nordic
I guess I'm a little bit Swiss, after all

Now it's different
it's almost expected
the rush of snowflakes in hurricanes
twirling around the light post
coming down in circles, like little blessings
I know, some people think it's a nuissance
it get's icy and slick and you can't get out
but for some of us it's Christmas
for some of us it's a miracle

My mother can see a pyramid
from her living room
I can see the Olympic Mountains
from mine
and I miss the Columbia
but there's something here
and it feels like I belong
someone told me I would love it here
that it was beautiful
and she was right
I just never expected it to be home

Between Puget Sound and the Cascades
people, places, almost a decade
I've let go of my itchy shoes
and amongst friends and lattes
I can smell the sea salt linger
and on white dressed endless evergreens
tears cristalize in thankfulness
I'm home
and I want it the way it is

There's a bottle of DiSaronno waiting for you
a thick, fleece blanket, spread by the fireplace