Before attending karate last evening, I managed to get the garden implements tucked away in the shed and pulled out the snow shovels. I also hung four strings of white sparkle lights into the arms of May, for some winter light in the back yard gardens. This morning, however, I didn’t feel like walking through the 8 cm blanket of snow, in order to plug them in. I’m opting to stay home this morning while so many others don’t have that choice. I feel blessed that on a morning like this, I can put on the coffee and stay warm and off those roads!
The Snowbound City
By John Haines
I believe in this stalled magnificence,
this churning chaos of traffic,
a beast with broken spine,
its hoarse voice hooded in feathers
and mist; the baffled eyes
wink amber and slowly darken.
Of men and women suddenly walking,
tumbling with little sleighs
in search of Tibetan houses —
dust from a far-off mountain
already whitens their shoulders.
When evening falls in blurred heaps,
a man losing his way among churches
and schoolyards feels under his cold hand
the stone thoughts of that city,
impassable to all but a few children
who went on into the hidden life
of caves and winter fires,
their faces glowing with disaster.