How the Maple Tree Grandpa Planted by the Barn Cracks Open in a Too-Early, Too-Heavy Snow

As the light turns yellow, then gray, then yellow.
As the wind blows still-green leaves from the trees.
As the dogs drape and sigh on the curl of my legs 
against the unusual hues. 
As rain, then sleet falls in waving sheets 
that clump to streams of snow.

In a slow arc of pop and crash.
With a bounce that swipes the white clumps 
from the green-orange-tipped, full-fingered leaves.
Onto the still shock 
of the grassy, snow-caked ground.

As I watch from the window with arms
that can’t stop it, heart flopping.