He sat on one end of the sofa
Starring out the French doors,
Quietly watching the snow fall
Gently upon his leaf covered lawn.
He slowly rubbed the fingertips
Of one hand back and forth across
The top of his other forearm.
He turned toward me
Still rubbing his arm.
He raised it up to show me,
“I hate these things” pointing to
A few patches of brown on his skin.
Back to the falling snow he drifted,
Watching without seeing,
Listening without hearing.
All the while he caressed the top of
His arm, slowly back and forth
Without speaking,
Without blinking,
Without averting his gaze from
The falling snow.
“Have you seen these?”
Showing me his arm again
Still enchanted by the snow.
“I hate these things”.
Silence enveloped him once again.
After a few more moments
I sat next to him on the couch
And watched the falling snow with him.
“Look at these things, I really hate them.”
He put his hands in his lap.
I took his left hand in mine
And whispered that I understood.
We watched the snow.