Marking the day by the piling snow.
Breakfast dusted the grass and speckled sidewalks.
Lunch soup, and a blanketed picnic table.
By tea time, pillows on lawn chairs.
Night baffled and warm, a world asleep.
Overnight, more snow fell lightly by moonlight.
Enough to erase all traces of yesterday.
Enough for fox to mark his domain again,
for squirrel to forget, make me want
to fill white space with unspoken words.
The pussy willow showed its furry catkins
early during a warm February week and
are now covered with heavy March snow.
We want to be optimistic. The universe
sometimes agrees – and sometimes laughs at us.
Just enough snow to make us believe
the day is a blank page and
on these faint lines we can write
a short story with a happy ending.
The window screen divides the scene
into thousands of pixels, and each one
will need to be filled, black or white,
on or off, here or not here.
A crossword puzzle we can never complete.
Outside is rain. No snow. I’m thankful.
It’s getting harder to shovel the walkways.
Lately, winter seems longer than three months.
But tonight, I’d like to be snowed-in,
warm fire, a cabin far from here.