Nancy: When the windows are obliterated with whirling blowing snow, only the mind can escape.
Snow On The Windows
a geology textbook
a campsite at Jumbo Rocks
a canyon, walking deep into history
a rolling meadow
Mount Kailas, streaming cloud
I might say
I am shut in
yes, I am shut in
Alan: Snowstorm after snowstorm, six feet, nine feet, eleven feet... And yet even in this hard winter, early March hints at another season coming.
Climbing March Hill #4
You say, “Look at the sky!”
I see “bruised.” I see “angry.”
“Livid.” I see welts,
something stretched out wounded.
Your pain and mine, everyone’s.
Lifetimes of hurts.
I see a storm far to the south,
heavy thumb on the mid-Atlantic states.
Stranded commuters. A jet
off the runway, almost
in the river. People running.
I see long tongues of flame.
I see this through another window
than last time. Another angle,
a little farther north.
I see a furnace banking itself behind spruces,
the sharp line of trees on the crest of the hill we live on.
A blindly biting mouth.
I see winter suddenly afraid of its own mortality.
I see a break in the storms, a chance for the snow to settle.
I see another cold night coming and a clear dawn,
the evening star setting west.
I see seeds waiting under the snow.
“Beautiful,” I say to you. “Beautiful.”