In what feels like the twist of a single moment
the season starts the first note of its white viola concerto
in the third bar, the first leaf-bare tree on the street dawns
on the crisp edge of night
and although the evening’s breeze
carries the quiet haunting reverb of loneliness
the dampening of the first glistening snowfall gifts each sidewalk guest
with a tinge of whimsy
and somewhere
a field mouse collects its third sand speckled thimble of the week
and its dinning set is complete
if you look that closely
you’ll begin to hear the warmth
of viola’s resonance ring out
into the darkened streets.