It was a snowy December, and January 1 brought more snow, which we enjoyed a bit today, despite the bitter cold. My youngest still thinks it's an honor to shovel the snow, while the eldest stayed snug inside, avoiding work as his new teen status encourages him to do.
Here's a poem in honor of the day.
New Year Snow
by Frances Horovitz
For three days we waited,
a bowl of dull quartz for sky.
At night the valley dreamed of snow,
lost Christmas angels with dark-white wings
flailing the hills.
I dreamed a poem, perfect
as the first five-pointed flake,
that melted at dawn:
to peer back at guttering dark days,
trajectories of the spent year.
And then snow fell.
Within an hour, a world immaculate
as January's new-hung page.
We breathe the radiant air like men new-born.
The children rush before us.
As in a dream of snow
we track through crystal fields
to the green horizon
and the sun's reflected rose.