In the morning,
a few patches of icy snow
remained in the yard,
some shaped
like white eyebrows
speckled black.
By afternoon, though,
when she was out with the dog,
the yard was completely
free and clear
of winter.
She found herself yelling
across the meadow
"ONLY TWELVE DAYS
TILL SPRING! YES!"
The dog wagged her tail
and the wind lifted the
black hair on her head,
and she just stood there
and listened steadily.
Now comes the next day
and the white stuff
roars down at a hard angle
and falls as intense fluff
and mixes with sleet
to spit new piles
on the ground.
Today, she is
indoors,
looking outdoors
and telling herself
she can't tolerate
one more snowy day.
She is about to
shout "I HATE IT
I'M SO DAMN SICK OF IT!"
when she
glances at the
dog stretched out
in her easy chair:
her black head
wedged between
the arm and the cushion,
her little white body
gently rising and falling
with her steady breath.
Ever so softly she
snores the
afternoon away.
It hits her then.
Why is she
labeling the snow
black or white?
Maybe
the "YES!/NO!"
"snow/no snow"
"good day/bad day"
dichotomy is
silly and
unnecessary.
Instead, do as
Poco does,
just be with
it, however
it is right now,
no matter,
the snow
like so much else
is just part of all
the glory there is to live
and love.
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