I profess to not be a fan of winter, dreading its coming all fall. But I forget its allure, its beguiling purity and clarity until one morning it suddenly transforms everything.
Epiphany Snow
The first real snow falls on Epiphany, late,
after a dry fall and cool December. Six inches,
no big deal, but an epiphany nonetheless.
Snow boots are still in the closet, the shovelÂ
and salt tucked behind stuff on the back porch.
The inevitable finds me unprepared as usual.
I purged from memory the scraping of the plow,
forgot the way snow shines on sagging cedars,
how all things dull and dim can now be shining.
Out of the old year’s ending, this new beginning,
when what could be wrestles with what will be. Who
can say what may befall once the snow begins to fall?
Well said. The seemingly endless summer/fall this year lulled us into unpreparedness, and now, “Who can say what may befall?