"I got this card today and told my husband,
'That looks like my niece's house in Indiana!'
He said, 'It might be!'
Just had to send you a picture of it!"
And this card from my friend Steven,
"because it sort of resembles your house!"
Here it is, the middle of February and all the snowfalls so far this season have been merely small or medium. To fill the gap, here's a poem to read while waiting for the big snow . . .
The Snow Arrives After Long Silence
The snow arrives after long silence
from its high home where nothing leaves
tracks or stains or keeps time.
The sky it fell from, pale as oatmeal,
bears up like sheep before shearing.
The cat at my window watches
amazed. So many feathers and no bird!
All day the snow sets its table
with clean linen, putting its house
in order. The hungry deer walk
on the risen loaves of snow.
You can follow the broken hearts
their hooves punch in its crust.
Night after night the big plows rumble
and bale it like dirty laundry
and haul it to the Hudson.
Now I scan the sky for snow,
and the cool cheek it offers me,
and its body, thinned into petals,
and the still caves where it sleeps.
by Nancy Willard
For more dreamy snowy imagery
see my current post:
"Dreaming of Snow"
@The Fortnightly Kitti Carriker
A literary blog of connection & coincidence;
custom & ceremony
See also: "Snow Was General"