Poetry, Gardening, Birding, and other reflections on life.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Here is a poem I wrote back in 1979, in Emmitsburg, the last time we had a snow event this size:
The deaf snow speaks in sign like a prophet. His fingers remark the landscape swiftly, stolidly. They say This time I am serious. He cups his thick hand on the birdsnest, levels the driveways, leans on the trees, pulls the sky down to the earth - nebulae swirl by the second story windows. This time I am serious. This time you will hear me.