Winter Weather Advisory

It is early Sunday morning,

and the snow has decided

to speak first.

It falls soft,

like a hush

laid gently

over the road outside.

No tires.

No sirens.

Just the kind of silence

that listens back.

I am bundled

beneath covers,

heat tucked close

to my skin,

while my mind

refuses rest.

Thoughts run marathons,

even when the world

agrees to pause.

The street

is frozen in agreement.

Everyone, everything,

at a standstill.

Somewhere

the West Coast wakes

to sunlight—

easy skies

and clear breaths.

The South

carries the weight

of ice,

slick roads

and cautious prayers.

The Midwest

is unsettled,

learning how sudden loss

can knock the wind

clean out of a morning.

And here I am—

a Black woman

holding all of it

at once:

weather,

grief,

contrast,

consequence.

This country

keeps shifting

beneath our feet—

shedding skins,

growing pains,

forgetting

and remembering

at the same time.

The snow

keeps falling.

The world

keeps turning.

Quietly.

And I lie still,

wondering—

not in fear,

but in truth—

what comes next,

and whether

we will meet it

awake.