The House in the Snowglobe

By Aetre


For a moment in time, the world is up side down

The house on the hill is floating

And the snow on the ground is dispersing:

Tiny white grains, rough as the sand, smooth as the surf

Prepare to fall to earth

Yet again


For a moment in time, the world is turned upright

The house on the hill is standing

And the snow in the air is descending:

Tiny white flakes, cold as a fish, sharp as a quill

Prepare to blanket the hill

Yet again


How many times has that house on the hill

Experienced the wind and the chill of the snow?

And how, even now, does it stand, light the world

As that one place of warmth to which all people go:

To rest themselves by the nighttime fires

And not feel tossed and turned; they stay still,

Though the globe may be spinning, and at new day’s beginning,

There exist only snowflakes, the house, and the hill.