As the fourth snow day in a row reveals the madness of winter housebound by frigid air and fluffy white stuff, I am revisiting a piece I wrote in 2015. Truer today than it ever has been.


Snow, as heavy as death,

How you break the frail back.

Shoveling is a gladiator sport, and

Winter is the lion which slays you.


Roar the oncoming hordes of flakes.

Sodden mittens clench the staff,

A blade against an unrelenting foe.

Blisters in anticipation.


Hurl the churlish weapon in futile rage.

A pain given is a pain received,

For every shovelful is death to someone.

And snowmen weep when the sun comes out.


Latticed crystals mock in six-sided glee

Covering once more the open ground.

Laying the monstrous earth to sleep.

Writing epitaphs in mounds of white.

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7 thoughts on “SNOW

  1. The story of my winter. Because my neighbors have been gone most of the winter and they’re not in great shape this winter (snow blower and all) I’ve been shoveling the entire block on which we live. The street is a state highway so that has meant shoveling everything the snow plow has tossed over our sidewalk. When we had the big cold snow a month ago that was 18 inches of mostly packed snow. Oh well. In normal years, they do mine.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. This is why I am grateful to now own a snowblower. Not that it doesn’t have downsides–like breaking down this week during the blizzard conditions. But, luckily, there are handy neighbors who can fix things. I’ve plowed the corner sidewalks three times this week in as many days. The day I had no snowblower reminded me how hard it is to shovel the stuff. Apparently low-tech weather equipment makes me both nostalgic and poetic at the same time. I’m glad I’m in good company.

      Liked by 1 person

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