The Guardians 2

The burn-barrel was too hot to touch.
Snow swirled around its base,
its girdle of rust,
covered the snow she shoveled
from the gravel drive
waiting for her father from the South.
I can imagine flakes
piling up the edges of paths she dug,
plummeting and wind-tousled,
driven to the earth like bees
at the beginnings of winter.