I live in Denver, Colorado. It is a beautiful city where you may be in a bustling big city, but if you look west, you bring quickly into view the Rockies. This time of year they are spectacular. Large crests of white peaks and lower ranges deep with the black-blue pine trees dotted with snow.
During the week though, I stare out my window from my small and cozy condo. Branches lace across my view with the occasional fat squirrel running adroitly from branch to branch.
My bit of heaven is found in this large pane of glass. I see the world and the snow of winter in it. My couch the color of champagne white sits beneath the sill and as I lean across it, staring at the scene below and above me, it feels like Christmas with each flake that gathers on the branches.
It has finally snowed for two days straight and I have been lucky enough to be able and stay home, watching from my window.
Here are the two poems I have written over the last two days:
SNOW DRIFTS-February 1st
I’m too tired to write something brilliant or keen or clever,
while snow is heaping upon the branches outside my window.
And like the cotton-packed sky,
I feel listless, lost in the grayness.
But not too lost.
I know the sun, like the weatherman promises, will break through the
dull clouds and burn the piled drifts,
Tonite, I sit watching.
Warm and cozy and alone.
Wondering why alone strikes me as unhappy.
Not a state like silent snow…peaceful, full of grace.
I tilt my head, squinting at the street lights.
Checking to see if the flakes are madly descending.
I want more snow…
to bury me, hide me from this real life.
I pretend, suspend my belief about me.
Snow does this. It buries the dead, hiding all the faults and fissures of reality.
It makes it pretty. It makes it sparkle.
But snow never lasts. Only in the most distant places
where it turns harsh and mean and cruel with its coldness.
And I don’t want this.
I’ll take the warmth, the melting down
Until I see myself once more
and find my way.
By Victoria Yeary February 1, 2016
SNOW MELTS- February 2nd
I look outside my window.
The snow built up to at least 7 inches on the branch outside
will be gone tomorrow, melted to nothing,
The winter branches bare again,
Until the next snow.
For a girl who never saw snow her entire young life,
It’s a special thing.
It sparkles, it makes me see possibilities…magic.
When I visit Kenya,
They ask me. What is it like?
I tell them it crunches like rice cakes beneath your feet.
It falls quietly in big flakes, quickly melting on your shoulders.
Flakes you can never quite capture on your tongue.
And though it’s cold, it brings a quietness, a solemnity that seems to make the world stop, pay attention.
We say hello to ourselves again.
Snow covers the harsh reality,
It gives me a sense of grace,
And a new slate of clean.
Until the sun arrives,
And melts the grace,
turning it to gray mush.
And we must bravely face the day,
And step out in it.
I look outside my window;
The branches thick with snow
Grateful for one more chance of snowfall.
February 2, 2016