Friday, January 07, 2022


Snow celebrates the unseen — bird footprints, fox tracks.
Snow celebrates the edges of things — curved branches, 
the tops of fenceposts, distorted diamonds of chainlink.

Snow spotlights the holy dry weed standing in the field alone.

Snow celebrates quiet — slows all human traffic, alters schedules, 
changes moods, puts the kaybosh on sound, shuts off lights.
Snow celebrates coldness  — it packs itself 
into the ribbing at the wrist of your glove, 
the ankle of your boot, reminds you of the warm pulse inside you.

Snow celebrates longing and impermanence 
as the building material for snowmen, 
and wishful, ramshackle hideaways during snowball fights.
Snow pulls its comforter over graves, reminds the dead 
and the living of the celebration of rest and spirit.

Snow celebrates newness, cleanliness, and chaotic order 
in a show of snowflakes, and endless white surfaces.

Snow makes it easy on the hawk, but hard on the chickadee.

Snow celebrates without knowing it is a celebration.
Beauty has a lack of awareness of its supremacy — 
its message of brevity: celebrate now.

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