November 28 Poem

Finally. Snow,

drifting down

swirling silently,

piling up on the lawn,

dressing spindly branches.

It has been a long wait.

I think the woods

would be lovely today

with a new white

covering and the hushed

silence that snow brings.


What if it kept snowing

all night and all day,

like white sheets

against the windows,

piling up deeper and deeper,

maybe so deep we couldn’t

get out of the house. Gleefully,

I’d have a big leisurely breakfast,

then gather my things—books,

a blanket, downy pillow,

my notebook, some pens,

and set up camp on the couch.


I’d open the curtains to let

the pale blue light leak

into the room and so I could

monitor the storm, watch

the glorious clean snow pile up

deeper and deeper. I’d make

another cup of hot chocolate,

dark and bitter, spiked with

chili pepper and cinnamon,

and a little splash of vanilla.


And when I grew tired of

watching the snow cascade

down from a tilted gray sky

I’d burrow down in my

blanket and doze off

dreaming of a world

clean and white and

full of peace and quiet.

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