It had been a decade since I had skied, and in an effort to build up my confidence via the “sink or swim” method, I decided to take the kids skiing by myself. After school, we gathered snacks, warm clothes, and our ski bibs and jackets. We needed skis, so we stopped by the rental shop at the base of the ski road. At the rental place, a sweet guy named Ben helped us get gear. You might wonder: and what happened up the hill? Just the facts, ma’am: we drove an hour up at sunset, hauled our gear to the Christmas-lit-at-nighttime slopes, put it all on (this included a Cinderella-esque snow-boot fitting with my daughter—13th time a charm!) Walking to the lift posed some problems—my babies struggled, protested, eventually took off their skis to walk in their boots to the gentlest lift. The second time we tried to make it to the lift, one child ended up in the splits, the other on his bottom, both crying. This tested my commitment. We decided that a single run was enough for the first time, took off our skis, went to the lodge for fried food dinner. Then drove down an hour in the icy night. Success or failure? We saw a great sunset from the mountain. We had six mostly pleasant hours doing something new together. We paid $120 in food and gear rental (not counting season pass) to ski 25 yards. We met a sweet stranger and got a word.
The Stranger: Ben
The Word: Snow
The poem I wrote:
all bright
shapes,
what
we bid for
& wish,
the quiet
rushes up
& down,
will be
blotted
out by the
snow.
The Challenge: Do you have a poem in you on this word? Write one here.
March 13, 2019 at 5:41 pm
Pivot.
Snow in The Dubliners.:
Bleak. Foreshadowing. Death. Isolation. Sorrow.
Snow now:
A sprite. Flitting from flower to flower, loved to loved.
Crooked teeth. Steady heart.
Full of wonder.
March forward, joyfully, Snow of now.
March 15, 2019 at 12:10 am
Demean the Pristine
The Argent Lady rules the night,
Waxing, waning, out of sight.
With her attraction, she betides
Earth’s ocean’s actions, she decides.
Illuminating our darkest hours,
Silver light and shadow, by turn, devoured.
From new to crescent, then gibbous, full
Stars may shine but Luna rules.
When, at last, we looked with extended eyes
We found answers to many “whys.”
Vast dark dry oceans, we call “mare”
And surrounding highlands, bright appear.
Comet and meteor’s violent crashes,
Caused deep depressions, glancing gashes.
Once we supposed, but could not trust,
Smashes layer in cosmic dust.
Selene’s mysteries, at last, unraveled
When her surface, at last, Man has traveled.
No water flows, winds don’t blow
Things once etched do not erode.
Footprints and tracks made one day
Are almost eternal, there to stay.
Untouched, the Moonscape is most pristine
Unless a crater is deemed obscene.
If you like the look of fresh fallen snow
Give some thought before you go.
If you give graffiti some gravitas
Leaving footprints might be your loss.
Like some vast Zen garden of virgin soil,
Will she fall to our intentioned spoil?
New fallen snow is so serene.
Soon our Moon will be unclean.
March 16, 2019 at 5:41 am
From New Orleans
I’ve been having this dream..
the streets of New Orleans
overnight cleaned.
Not swept, or blown or rain-washed,
but glow in the dark, silent white,
Bourbon street muffled one milky night
by the best northern show…
inches, then feet, of powdery snow.
Joy-infused jazz
Sazerac slushies
Drunks falling, not bruising,
making snow angels
all over the streets
filling the potholes for free.
A magic white night, indeed!
March 16, 2019 at 11:56 am
February
Inescapable February:
Dirty snow clings to roadsides
like day-old mascara,
under-eye circles on a landscape
that aches for a fresh start
or at least a nap.
Winter’s hangover,
gone on long
enough.
March 18, 2019 at 3:48 pm
McCall, Idaho my friend, my love
Beautiful floating feeling of
Snow, beautiful Snow
Falling, Falling forever above.
A day a week
more and more keep
coming and piling
on my roof like a dove.
Three feet, Four, now five
Water seeping inside
Our fire has melted it,
The roof can’t contain
Damage done,
heavy snows came.
Had enough
Damage remains.
March 20, 2019 at 10:30 pm
Haiku
The longer days bring
To every cherry branch
A tuft of warm snow.
March 20, 2019 at 11:07 pm
Haiku? Gesundheit!
I love it!
March 21, 2019 at 5:36 am
Deep in the empty pine forest
of the valley of the Chattahoochee
well below the Mason Dixon
no
snow flurries
snow flakes
fall.
Rather,
the crystal droplets
beginning high in the clouds
warm upon descent
and end in puddles.
No
snow angels
only muddy treads
mark my
journey on this planet.