Thursday, December 23, 2010

Poem for the Solstice


Every year I write about snow

and every year it surprises me.

If no snowflake is the same,

then certainly no blizzard is either.

How scary when hail pelts the windshield,

How charming snow is nestled on the bird feeder.

There are storms that catch you unaware.

In your nightgown you watch

flakes bigger than fists fly at the windows.

Know it will all melt, the ice,

the piles at the end of the driveway.

Even now it is moving toward liquid.

Know you will stand at the window again

watching green pulses push from the garden.

1 comment:

  1. I like this poem. What gets me is when trees crack in an ice storm -- sounds like the crack of a rifle -- and when the iced-up branches hit the ice layer in a rushing sound like a glass waterfall. Then the power goes out for six days.

    This is me, hurrying toward spring!