Plot a scenario where it could occur:
six inches of newly-fallen snow
is as good as a sunset on the bay.
Lie down on it, make snow angels,
steal a Facebook picture of her
stretched in mock-sultry splendour,
then tumble where she trashes
to make her angel’s wings, laugh,
let her scream her wildest trill
then plant an errant kiss. She will
push, you will pull. Do not cease
from childlike giggling. Roll over,
wrestle like the pair of squirrels
you pointed out to her under that
bare maple. If she struggles, wait.
Wait for her to lie still with her
weakened guffaw, lock her into
your arms to gather warmth.
“To keep you warm”, you protest.
She is ready, if you are.
But that was when you saw
the quondam pair of rodents
in frenzied coupling on a swinging
branch, and she let out a stifled
scream. The pair on the maple trunk
scampered, retreated to separate
limbs, paused, stared, and left
off where they were rudely
interrupted. First lesson learned.
The next lesson, therefore, should be
---ALBERT B. CASUGA
Six inches of fresh powder. A pair of squirrels wrestle in it, then go up the big maple, couple on the trunk, and retreat to separate limbs.---Dave Bonta, The Morning Porch, 02-22-11
Photo by Dave Bonta, "Porcupine"