Hoarfrost

Fresh falling snow,
each flake unique.

Those lucky
to cling to branches
join the elite order
of hoarfrost,

laughing at their brethren
below, trampled, shoveled,
driven over,
broken down,
salted
(what are we, caviar?)
until each individual
is crushed
into an unreconizable
brown slush.

An unexpected warm day
proves the equalizer.