REPORT: February 2, 2021
No shadows this year, no light sharpening shapes.
Instead, tracks of a fox bounding
through belly-deep snow across the unplowed drive
into the pinewoods edged with bramble
where the rabbits hide. West wind drifts the snow.
Sun and moon rise and set behind the clouds.
This snowstorm’s not exactly late,
In fact, they happen all the time.
This sort of thing’s what we expect
For living in a Northern clime.
Nevertheless, that doesn’t mean
It’s something we appreciate–
Wouldn’t it be more comforting
If winter had a closing date?
Snow begins, flake by flake.
For a little while I can follow
the little shapes as they fall
from the snow-colored
sky to the snow-covered ground.
I would wish all my life
to be this way:
slow steps, distinct musics,
each moment acknowledged,
every face its own.
January 2, 2015