I remember how eagerly I used to listen for the school closings on WPDM when I was a kid. Will it be a snow day? I think my father, being a teacher, listened with similar anticipation. A snow day was the touch of grace, an unanticipated diversion from business as usual.
Thanks to the power of the cursed internet, my snow day yesterday meant a work day at home, doing all my usual duties on a much smaller screen. But who’s bitter? Saturday will do just as well, sending out this poem composed in my pajamas.
All night while I was sleeping snow came down,
the way time invisibly accumulates until one
morning this is this face I see in my mirror.
What plans I might have had for the day – poof.
Nothing is moving from here to town, nothing
moving among the white-freighted trees.
Only the snow is moving, steadily downward
as I peer out through the north-side windows
and school closings crowd out the radio news.
But the reassuring rumble of the furnace is steady;
the pantry and the fridge are good for days yet.
Why get dressed? Why not cook comfort food?