40 Words for Snow
Jan 27 2025
A high pressure system barrels in,
dry arctic air
on a fierce north wind
I could lean all my weight against
and still not fall.
Or so it seems,
if I only had the nerve
to lean in all the way.
It scours the open fields,
freeze-drying the snow
into styrofoam.
So instead of slogging through
halfway to my knees
step by arduous step
I stride over the top.
As if I could levitate.
As if, instead of snow-stayed
the world had opened up
and I was free to wander
at will.
Traversing the frozen lakes.
Fording impassable swamps.
Making a bee-line
over uneven ground.
As if the roots and rocks and toppled trees
had been bulldozed aside,
turning the densely tangled woods
into a thoroughfare.
If they really had 40 words for snow
what would this be called?
Sprung, uncaged, unbound?
At least until the first warm spell,
when winter closes in
and the world once again
constricts around me.
And of course they had 40 words.
What else, when your life depends on it.
When snow can set you free
and keep you warm,
can beautify the world
as well as replenish it.
But also bury you.
Can trap your arms and legs
under its leaden weight
where even sound doesn’t escape.
Can leave
you gasping
for what little air is left.
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