in the snowstorm
finding the spaces between the flakes
where it’s clear
Posts Tagged ‘snow’
Love Poem
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged fight, love, peace, poem, poetry, snow, storm on February 14, 2019| Leave a Comment »
One Double Black Diamond
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, self-doubt, skiing, snow on January 20, 2019| Leave a Comment »
snow so deep, so soft
even the me who thinks she’s not good enough
laughs, whoops, falls, rises
One Palette
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, silence, ski, snow, sound on January 14, 2019| Leave a Comment »
shush of skis, sharp heave
of breath, wild red thump of heart—
silent trees, silent snow
The Next Storm Comes
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beginnings, magic, new year, poem, poetry, snow, storm on December 31, 2018| 4 Comments »
And suddenly you know: It’s time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings.
—Meister Eckhart
And suddenly you know it’s time
to shovel the drive. For though snow
still falls, at this moment it’s only
three inches deep and you can still push it easily
with your two wide yellow shovels.
Yes, it’s time to start something new—
though it doesn’t feel new, this
shoving snow from one place to another.
In fact, your shoulders still feel
the efforts of yesterday.
But with each push of the shovels,
the path on the drive is new again. At least
it’s new for a moment, new until snow
fills it in. Then it’s a different kind of new.
How many beginnings are like this?
They don’t feel like beginnings at all?
Or we miss their newness?
Or they feel new only for a moment
before they’ve lost their freshness?
There is magic in beginnings, says Meister Eckhart,
and sometimes we see beginnings all around us,
a new path, a new promise, a new meal.
A new prayer. New snow fall. A new song.
Is it too grand to call it magic, this new calendar year?
Too grand to call it magic, this momentary
clearing on the drive? Too grand to be magic,
this momentary clearing in my thoughts?
Or is it exactly, perhaps, what magic is—
something we allow ourselves to believe,
despite logic, despite reason, something that brings
us great pleasure, makes us question
what we thought we knew, our sense
of what is possible changed.
How to Unshovel the Snow: An Evening Conundrum
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged hope, poem, poetry, shoveling, snow, thoughts on December 27, 2018| 6 Comments »
It’s not so much that you want the snow
back in the drive, it’s just that your back
felt so much better before the shoveling,
and so, using your sideways logic, you think
to yourself that if the snow were unshoveled
your back might unhurt. And while
you’re at it, you think you might unthink
those thoughts you thought the night before
shoveling the drive. Though they didn’t
amount to any action, now that you’ve
thought them they’ve become a frame
that’s changed everything. So you start
with the snow, because revising that seems easier
than anything else, but to shovel it back
in the drive would seem to exacerbate
the problem with the back, so
you consider ways the snow might unfall,
all of them fanciful. At least for a while,
it amuses you, the idea of ten million
million snowflakes rising, but then
the reality of drought returns and you
feel guilty for unwishing the snow. No,
better to put your hope in perseverance,
better to put your hope in healing.
It happens. And you walk up the drive,
so snowless and clear you can safely look up
at the sky and see all those stars. The snow
gathers whatever light there is. It can’t
unshine. You thrill a bit in the chill. Some
of the shine reaches into you. Some of it stays.
One More Storm that Didn’t Happen
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, snow, spring, winter on March 28, 2018| Leave a Comment »
One in the Snow
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged path, poem, poetry, shoveling, snow on March 4, 2018| Leave a Comment »
No Way to Know Where They Go
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged love, poem, poetry, snow on February 6, 2018| 4 Comments »
By surprise, the snow
takes the night and by morning
nothing is the same
as it was—that’s what it’s like
falling in love. Everything
is the same, only
it isn’t. A steller’s jay
flies bluely through
the new world. Everything
is out there, waiting
for you to discover it again.
There are footprints
in the snow that
aren’t yours. Follow them.
The Need for Absence
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged absence, emptiness, poem, poetry, shoveling, snow on January 7, 2018| 4 Comments »
For an hour and a half, my son and I
create emptiness. All those places
where there was snow
on the drive and the walk,
we shovel them until there’s a long,
sinewy swath of absence.
It is deeply satisfying,
this moving of matter
from one place to another,
creating a path, a way.
When we are done, we lean
on our shovels and revel
in what is missing. We high five
and smile and feel as if we’ve really
accomplished something together.
How oddly full I feel
after this effort of emptying.
How many paths in me
are waiting to be exposed?
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