A Child of the Dusk

I am a child of the dusk
Just preceding a first snow
Clear
Soft pinks and lavender 
Errant clouds accented by the gold of the sun
Yet still prone to greys and blue
Stark, black shadows and silhouettes.
I am of those too.
I am of Buffalo’s November air,
Transforming clouds over hours of time 
Cumulus
Bringing snow and winter 
Bringing night 
Bringing the hopes for the sparkle of a morning frost
Beautiful, biting with light, frozen breaths of severe reality,
I am both the light and the the heavy, the dark.
I am hope and despair.
I will shake the bones of the fragile
And exercise excitement in the lungs of the hot blooded.
But mostly, I am entirely indifferent to any concentrated, thawing efforts.