March Slice of Life No. 1
#PoetryFriday
On the valley floor, we’ve had pitifully little snow this winter. So when it was forecast off and on the past two weeks, a certain anticipation filled the air. Finally, on Tuesday, it began to snow. On Thursday, as I reflected on the snow event, I wrote about it.
Where’s the Snow?
Snow fell all day last Tuesday–
Tiny crystals that stung my cheeks
Powdery flakes that covered my shoulders
Wet doilies I caught on my tongue
Snow fell all day last Tuesday–
Driven by a howling wind
Then gusting upward, downward in a flurry
Finally drifting softly from cloud to earth
Snow fell all day last Tuesday–
Traffic on our hill did not slow
Sidewalks were not covered
Children did not come out to play
Snow fell all day last Tuesday–
Spreading thin blankets ov’r parked cars
Lightly painting my walnut’s branches
Carelessly dusting green grass white
Snow fell all day last Tuesday–
But at day’s end, no snowmen smiled at me
No snow angels rested on the ground
There was no snowballing, no sledding on the hill
Snow fell all day last Tuesday–
So, where’s the snow?
© 2019 Alice Nine
While I’m thinking and writing about snow for the last time this winter, I must share a James Russell Lowell favorite of mine: “The First Snowfall.” But before I share Lowell’s poem, I must share an excerpt from one of my treasures, a book titled Poets’ Homes:
Adjoining the grounds of Elmwood [Lowell’s home], … is a beautiful city of the dead, Mount Auburn. Screened by its loveliness and its silent watch are two of the poet’s children and his first wife. On the grave of his first-born he wrote that sweet, tender poem called “The First Snow,” …
— Poets’ Homes, Pen and Pencil Sketches of American Poets and Their Homes by R. H. Stoddard and Others (1877)
The First Snowfall
by James Russell Lowell (1819 – 1891)
The snow had begun in the gloaming,
And busily all the night
Had been heaping field and highway
With a silence deep and white.
Every pine and fir and hemlock
Wore ermine too dear for an earl,
And the poorest twig on the elm-tree
Was ridged inch deep with pearl.
From sheds new-roofed with Carrara
Came Chanticleer’s muffled crow,
The stiff rails softened to swan’s-down,
And still fluttered down the snow.
I stood and watched by the window
The noiseless work of the sky,
And the sudden flurries of snowbirds,
Like brown leaves whirling by.
I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
Where a little headstone stood;
How the flakes were folding it gently,
As did robins the babes in the wood.
Up spoke our own little Mabel,
Saying, “Father, who makes it snow?”
And I told of the good All-Father
Who cares for us here below.
Again I looked at the snow-fall,
And thought of the leaden sky
That arched o’er our first great sorrow,
When that mound was heaped so high.
I remembered the gradual patience
That fell from that cloud like snow,
Flake by flake, healing and hiding
The scar that renewed our woe.
And again to the child I whispered,
“The snow that husheth all,
Darling, the merciful Father
Alone can make it fall!”
Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her:
And she, kissing back, could not know
That my kiss was given to her sister,
Folded close under deepening snow.
____________________________________
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Tonight’s snow “began in the gloaming” and it is supposed to snow all night. School has already been cancelled for tomorrow, so I hope we’ll have enough to build snowmen and go sledding. Love your poem, and thank you for sharing Lowell’s sad, poignant lines.
I love your poem. Unfortunately, we’re still seeing snow in our neck of the woods. It’s been a longer, colder, and snowier winter than we’re used to. ‘m looking forward to Spring poems 🙂
The snow is piling up here in Wisconsin–tiny crystals, powdery flakes, and wet doilies. You are welcome to come cart it away–we are running out of room to store what we shovel! I love how you show anticipation and disappointment by describing what didn’t happen. The Lowell poem is moving, too.
I remember years (not here) of heaping snow on piles that didn’t melt all winter. No thanks.
Just popping in to say that I read this yesterday in the airport on my phone (so no comments – too much for me). Love the image of the boot print of snow. Your poem – and Lowell’s sadder one – stuck with me as I returned to snowy Ottawa last night.
Oh, Lowell’s poem must surely have resonated with you considering snow and the funeral you recently attended.
I love the repeated line, too, Alice. We do have snow like that, so light that people use leaf blowers to clean their sidewalks and cars. Last week we did have a big snow, and snow people were born. The part you shared about Lowell and his poem is wonderful and so very poignnant. HIs work is a treasure. Thanks for sharing that lovely picture from the book.
Thank you, Linda. Yes, his work is a treasure.
I don’t think we are quite finished with snow here in the northeast. A stones throw from Mount auburn, I long to see this poem in its original place ,but perhaps it is another.
How wonderful that would be. I saw that Elmwood is listed in the Nattional Park Service and that it has a history that precedes the years that the Lowell family lived there.
The repeated line was effective in moving the poem forward. Lovely image of doilies on the tongue! Lowell’s study would be such a dreamy space. A comfy chair, a warm fire, and being surrounded by books!
The stacks of books is what I noticed the most! And the papers on his writing table.
We had a covering of snow last night. We are getting another covering tonight. A prediction of 7 – 10 inches Sunday into Monday. I will gladly send you some if you want it. 🙂
Thanks, but no thanks; I’m good without it. My thoughts are turning to spring!
We’ve had some “snow days” like yours this winter. I loved the Lowell poem… it’s beauty and sadness took my breath away. And what a treasure that book of piet’s homes is!
I’m thinking I’ll share more from “Poets’ Homes” in future posts.
I feel so lucky that I stumbled on your post! I love your line in your poem, “Wet doilies I caught on my tongue” and the image that gave me. I also really liked how you created a rich, multi-genre post about your topic.
Thank you, Alaina. I’m so glad you stopped by and commented.
Alice, your poem was if you wrote it about out area. Isn’t it amazing how the snow falls and then by the end of day disappears? While I was at the dentist’s office today one of the assistants said that her 10 year old questioned why she could not have a snowfall like in the past. What she really wanted was a fun snow day. The First Snowfall is both beautiful (filled with visual images0 and sad at the same time. Thanks for both treats.
I agree with the 10-year old. If we must have cold and we must have snow/ice, it should at least be fun.
I love your use of that repeated line at the start of each stanza, Alice. Sorry your snowstorm flopped!
Oh, “flopped” is a good word for it! The kids would agree with that.