Piles and Puddles

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Warm rains fall on snow without a sound

The only evidence is the silver gray mist

Rising from the lumpy grungy piles around

It’s warm out for January, sixty degrees at noon

Winter dried skin feels smooth again if only briefly

Thanks to this tropical feeling winter monsoon

Office windows open to fresh air and a humid breeze oozes in

While stale heated air escapes into the wild

The sounds of patters and splatters creating a spring-like din

No longer silently falling into piles the drops

Noisily Tumble into salty puddles cleaning the winter away

Leaving the feeling of spring at least until the rain stops.

(An imagery poem)