A Little Dab of Snow

It wasn't much, but it'll do. We woke up to white this morning, and it continued to drift down pretty much through to the evening. It didn't amount to much, maybe 3 inches or so, but it's pretty, and I'll take it. We started out today at 30 degrees, and it never warmed up more than a few degrees so the snow will still be around tomorrow, at least for most of the day.

We had planned to deliver this table we finished up this week,

but the weather canceled that since the buyer lives an hour away. We planned to meet somewhere halfway, but since the schools were closed we all decided that tomorrow might be a wiser choice.

So I've had the day free--after the table delivery we were going to work on that buffet at our booth again, but we stayed home instead. Larry has two or three furniture repair projects going, I had ebay to do and the secretary to continue painting. So we had leftover chicken noodle soup, salad and cheesy biscuits for lunch, and stayed busy right here all day.

That's the best part of being retired--we don't have to go out unless we want to (or unless I have a storytelling preformance, or we have doctor appointments). I relish this freedom to plan the days the way we want. In my work life, I'd have been on the road early this morning, and probably not home until 7pm, after it was fully dark. I do not miss that at all.

I was reading through some snow poems, just because, and came upon this one by Wallace Stevens.

The Snow Man

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Gustave Loiseau1865-1935

*****
There was little wind today, nothing to shake the heavy snow from the branches so it remained in place and lovely all day. But Stevens' poem reminded me of this one, by Christina Rossetti, posted by a friend this morning:

The Wind

Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you.
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.


Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I.
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.

****

Blow, blow, thou winter wind by John Everett Millais (1829–1896)

At the poetry group this past Tuesday, we discussed how difficult it can be to pick a title for a poem. Often what we start with seems fine at first, but as we re-work the poem, the title just doesn't fit any more. One person remarked that a title needs to grab attention in an anthology or book index. Neither of these two above poems'' titles would do that, would they? And yet the simplicity of both poems is pleasing, and the titles fit. Something to think about there. Perhaps simple is just as valuable as an eye-catching title?

Tonight, I think I'll make snow ice cream. After all, this might be the only chance we get this winter!

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