Air heavy with the weight of forecasted snow,
it starts with tiny frozen pellets
pinging against the kitchen windows.
After a bit, fat flakes flutter
slowly down in the frosty air.
Abruptly, the north wind shifts,
clotted snow flys sideways.
The snow comes thickly, whitely, riotously,
for an hour, two hours, then suddenly stops.
Suiting up in boots and jacket,
woolly red scarf protecting his face,
he shovels his way down the twisty path.
Enveloped in serene silence,
he pushes on, scraping the sidewalk
to the gray cement ribbon below.
Lift-throw, lift-throw, over and over,
like the ticking of a clock.
Savoring the sharp smell of wood smoke,
he clears a narrow passage to the side door.
His movements muffled, he’s gloriously alone
beneath the immense, blank sky.
by Marianne McNamara
No comments:
Post a Comment