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It's my birthday and a blizzard at the same time. So the Eagle and I are squestered at home - I hope he is not called out to the hospitals. It is supposed to be getting quite nasty in the wee hours.
I'd love to 'watch' the blizzard - the blowing falling snow, but it's going to be the middle of night, not the time for visible weather. This will be a secret storm, hidden by darkness. We will wake to the changed world - drifted snow and heavy branches.
We will not fully understand or experience it, cozy as we are, in the house with limited windows and excellent insulation. Our comfort - perhaps it makes us shallow.
December afternoon a day after the first snowfall.
In all cities,
there is a moment, in December,
when the sun is low
and the light is slanting, soft.
When melt and cars and concrete
create a universal smell.
This is not beauty.
But it is real.
That we, humans, ride this tide of our own making
our permanently frozen ground,
our marred landscape
our padded feet not feeling
our swaddled bodies not aware
that the soft sun is crying:
breathe.
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