Snow

Yesterday we had the Great March Blizzard of ’09. It had been announced, announced, and announced, one more time, on the news the night before. Getting up at five a.m. I looked out the window to see a mere dusting on the grass. “Well,” I said disgustedly before tucking back under the covers, “they got it wrong again.” I was disappointed. When I woke up at seven a.m. it was a different story. By nine it was looking official. By ten is was the real thing.

I was reminded of winters in Michigan where it seemed like every snow storm was a blizzard and snow was piled high all winter. It was my favorite season. I liked shoveling snow and taking the big straw broom to sweep the porch steps whipping small swirls of white beauty into the air. I am not sure the steps were worry free when I finished but I had fun. That big old broom was my partner as together we swept every tree within spitting distance of the house while, Suzie, our dog danced behind us. I especially liked reaching high with the broom to hit the drifts off the evergreen trees. It was a never-ending surprise when the snow fell on my head drifting down my neck to melt with a squeal under my coat. On snowy days it was my delight to be out until soggy mittens or frozen toes drove me in.

Yesterday I got out Ralph Waldo Emerson’s, The Snow Storm.
“Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, arrives the snow.”
Yesterday was a poem of a day.

Jesse