I sit at the kitchen table
these days,
coffee cup in hand,
staring out the window,
staring at
the snow-covering of dust
on the sill.

How does dust descend?
Do fairies scamper about
sprinkling dust in some magic
incantation?
Is some tiny lost soul
leaving crumbs
to find its way home?

The day passes.
The dust remains.
 Nothing changes.