Blizzard

Snow:
years of anger following
hours that float idly down --
the blizzard
drifts its weight
deeper and deeper for three days
or sixty years, eh? Then
the sun! a clutter of
yellow and blue flakes --
Hairy looking trees stand out
in long alleys
over a wild solitude.
The man turns and there --
his solitary track stretched out
upon the world.

William Carlos Williams

Thoughts of snow in the air as the Northeast luxuriates (thrashes) in a bounty of it. I love the images in Williams' poetry: the mix of earth / spirit in a clasp. Our snow garcon has become a petite fille, a small girl with a delicate waist and an upturned nose. Soon, she will spill over, being vulnerable in air. I've grown to love her, like my cats, and I wonder why does love travel to temporary uncertain things so easily?