The Writers' Circle

I remember how the snow fell that day.

It fell in big, fat lumps,
caoting everything in a thick white blanket.
The heaviest snowfall we had seen in years,

they said.

The black we wore a stark reminder against the white backdrop
of why we had gathered there,
on that harsh February day.

And now,
when the snow drifts down,
from a cold grey sky,
children squeal with delight,
racing out for a snowball fight,
snowmen appear in their plenty,
five, ten, fifteen, twenty,
sledging families down snowy hills,
giggling and shrieking at their winter thrills.

But I just sit and stare,
feeling numb as I'm taken there,
back to the day we said goodbye,
when thick snow fell from the sky.