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.

Kathleen’s Back Yard

Doug’s Front Yard