It began snowing yesterday, around twelve noon, right when they said it would. But they also said it would stop at seven tonight. It's eight thirty-nine. Still snowing.
It's very gentle, a quiet, gentle snowfall. And beautiful - I kept looking outside, at the same view as always, which I never tire of.
Looks like a lot, doesn't it? But there was already some on the ground. A day and a half of almost constant snowing, and all we got was three inches, maybe four.
The Snow Arrives After Long Silence
The snow arrives after long silence
from it's high home where nothing leaves
tracks or strains 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.
- Nancy Willard
I love the poem!
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