Blue Norther

I understand the Panhandle is looking forward a cold front passing through.  Growing up in that part of the world, I am quite familiar with the weather.  Thoughts of experiencing it inspired the following:

As the light begins to rise
I look toward the north
And see a line of darkest blue
Down low, near to the earth.

The breeze which blew from south, then west,
Has settled down to calm;
The period of quietness
Just before the storm.

I watch the low and scudding clouds
As they precede the blow
With swelling gusts and puffs of dirt
From the Arctic start to flow

And then it hits as though a wave
From off the polar ice
Has rolled across the placid Plains
With tumbleweeds as froth.

It's Carhart's, gloves and woolen cap
As temperatures do plunge
And stinging drops which turn to ice
Begin to pelt the earth

Leaving coat of crystal clear
On all that is exposed
To howling winds that bite
The face and chill the toes.

And tiny stinging balls of sleet
That sing of more to come
In form of swirling flakes of snow
That soon begin to pile

Behind each post or clinging plant
Where shelter give it home.
And each long, mounting pile of white
Is pointing to the south,

Accusing that which left behind
Wrapped up in bitter cold
Those who surely know
The Blue Norther passed this way.