At the Sugar Shack

April brought snow.
There were maple taps
in a bucket by the register.
I gave my daughter a couple dollars
to give to the waitress, to say
thank you for the strawberry pancake.
Once she crumpled them
in her hand, she did not
want to let go. Outside, the snow
fell, but didn't accumulate.
There was another child, sitting
in the mud on the path
to the animal village.
But we sensed the nap was close,
the end of our snow day adventure.
We piled into the car.
The crocuses won't die.
This might be all gone tomorrow:
the white-capped hills,
the mist, the bizarre melodrama
of winter.