Snow blew beginning Tuesday afernoon, through yesterday until about 2:30. It was called a blizzard. I don't know the specific definition but, as a former upstate New York resident, to me it was just a lot of cold, blowing snow. This morning there was no snow on my car -- it had all blown off. The lot had been plowed but the pile behind my car was barely 3 inches deep. Not my idea of a blizzard.
However, a new Academy of Lifelong Learning semester starts next week and I realized I need a poem so I'm working on one. This may or may not be the final version. I describe the last 48 hours using a self-conscious metaphor. The photo taken last year actually if very much like this morning's dawn except the cars in the lot have snow on them.
Yesterday the winter warriors, camouflaged In chiffon veils of snowflakes and wind, nothing more, sprite-like in gauzy white flying gowns advanced Spinning, whirling, leaping, as they danced Rushing randomly across the lawn. They left Their tattered flounces in graceful drifts. The artful army secretly seeded the battlefield With its hidden weapon: freezing cold.
Dawn arrived today, rosy-fingers giving way to glowing gold above and glittering silver below, colorful peacemakers promising liberation from the aftermath of Operation Ice Invasion.
The mid-70s are a surprise! Part of me remains in the 50s -- age, I mean, not decade of 20th century. It's a joy ride, new experiences land in my lap and I've become a better quilter, poet, writer than I expected. It's a rich life for a person never rich financially. Hey, this is what the mid-70s are like!