We shoveled ourselves out by 4:30 today, in the feeble sunshine, just in time for night to fall. I say "feeble sunshine" in contrast to the "feeble winter" of another February in
Sam Rasnake's fine poem "February Psalm," up today at
Escape Into Life. Because this particular winter's not a feeble one. The
art by
Chris Ballantyne is gorgeous and scary at once, you'll see!
Well, you can see a bit of it above. We have white roofs around here, and our own roof has a drift like a curling wave on it--a surfer's wave, or Camille Claudel's wave. It's all quite wondrous. But there's been a wave of grief, too. All around me, friends are losing their fathers. It's a very hard winter for some. "So," as Emily Dickinson has said, "let us keep fast hold of hands, please, that when the birds begin, none of us be missing!"
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Sam Rasnake's poem really hit me in the gut. So many winter trips as my dad fell and fell and finally drifted and disappeared.
ReplyDeleteI WAS thinking about you when I read Sam Rasnake's poems. Not about you being gut punched (me in denial?) but about the amazing universality of particular experience. Love to you. And to Sam Rasnake.
ReplyDeleteYes, winter is a tough time for the elderly. Not just the cold, but harder for them to get enough vitamin D from sun exposure.
ReplyDeleteThanks for you kind reminder. Lately, at least the sun has been shining!--on the bright snow and in the bitter cold.
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