Drive home

The snow came down, balled into little fists
so many frozen comets railing against the ground
(thrown down from the heavens).
It piled up like rock salt in the streets;
our tires made thin black stripes.
The sky was one heavy sheet,
one homogeneous layer of graphite overhead.
But when the lightning struck
it changed,
inexplicably,
it melted lavender in all directions,
purple-blue luminescence.
We braked with painstaking caution,
slipping sideways over the coated roads--
rogue wanderers taking to a lake of ice.
We lurched into the curb at home,
opened up to the silent, sleepy neighborhood--
safe now from the quiet fury of December.