Ah, here in Southern California,
there is no snow,
there is never snow.
You have to drive
to find
it.
I take comfort in knowing that
out there,
(somewhere)
is the most beautiful scene of
hills covered in white.
Homes covered in icicles.
Frosted trees bare and asleep,
the land pure and clean.
In my imagination
there is this peaceful place.
There is no such sight here.
Outside my window the nieghbor cleans his
garbage truck.
I guess,
the saying holds true,
the grass is always greener
on the other
side,
even when buried underneath the snow.
11'
