It's December 21st and Where's the Snow?
By Don Iannone

Bone-chilling December rain fell lightly
upon depressed red-headed cardinals, pecking
through muddy seed beneath a dripping feeder.
I overheard one redbird urge her mate
to book a flight to Billings, where
surely the snow will fly on Christmas day.
The neighbor's Christmas decorations,
hung ever so carefully a couple Saturdays ago,
looked pathetically helpless
in bringing cheer to the season.
I met the mail lady at the box this morning,
greeting her with a contrived Merry Christmas.
Mustering a bah humbug smile,
she returned the greeting, but
quickly added that everyone should try singing
"I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas"
to bring on some winter whiteness.
Why do we long so for snow on Christmas?
My Buddhist friends would say it's our conditioning...
and I'm inclined to agree, yet
I guess I'm still dreaming of a white Christmas.

December Daybreak
By Don Iannone

Deafening quiet December morning.
Still cold air surrounds and bites at nothingness.
Fresh white snow...piled deep, muffles
worldly worries and woes.
Light creeps slowly into day, through naked trees,
awakening bright red cardinals,
plopping from perches into glittering snow
in search of first light breakfast.
No highway sounds, lawnmower roars...
only the sound of lingering stillness
hushing the heart into patient repose.

Quiet Liberation
By Don Iannone

Caught up in the beauty
of a full moon December night.
Miracles part the clouds,
heavy with august snow--
falling hard, and
drifting slow motion across soundless yards.
No lunar madness,
or catastrophic emotional tidal waves
sweeping hearts out to sea.
Only peace, and
an empty lingering sense of quiet liberation
rising in soul depths.
No urge to cry out,
like a moon-crazed wolf in the tall timbers.
Just undeniable primordial joy.