Hello and Thank You and Goodbye
Here the trees are empty now
That’s fair
Some leaves hang on
Inevitably
Bravely
Though winter is unchanging
Too
And with intent
And will
Comes on
C L Couch
Photo by Noah Silliman on Unsplash
snow on one branch to start
snow on a branch
then move closer to the window
to see the snow
is everywhere outside
of course
and this is good
it’s winter
and it doesn’t look severe
most of this will clear away
and the temperature
supposedly
reach fifty
by
midweek
it’s the kind
to look at
and to watch it fall
as if nothing else is pressing
even though it is
calls for a drink
with rising vapor
and to sit
at something
by the window
take it in
and also think
and feel
far away
this is hardly farm show weather
it is so mild
but it’s the first snowfall
to note
in a year
and will have to do
being an untroubled visitation
on the first day
of
the January fair
c l couch
photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash
(x = space)
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White Out
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There was hardly any winter;
Now I am nostalgic
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As I get old
The immediacy of snow
Has sometimes frightened me
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Am I ready?
(knowing I’m not ready)
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But now I miss the falling
And the settling
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Not the extremes, of course,
Or the extremes of heat in summer
But enough that says
Winter is allowed
In our land
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And I might walk in it
Again
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So I’m learning, still
(so are you):
I hadn’t thought more generally
And with some surprise
That the bildungsroman
Has never
Finished
x
It goes on bildung-building
(education)
And as roman
A story
Of many chapters
Or a song with many stanzas,
Key transitions,
D. S. to the coda
For life is repeated
Many times,
It seems
Or even improvised
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And of Shangri-La philosophy
(moderation in all things)
Maybe the winter
Shall return
With some climatic glory
And less (less) fearfulness from
Me
And should anyone
Who feels this way
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C L Couch
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Photo by Mark Rabe on Unsplash
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(x = space)
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Temporary Beautiful
x
I don’t know
We walk in snow today
If we want to
It fell when nighttime degrees
Encountered would-be rain
x
There is wind
To keep it down
For a while
Though the temperatures
Won’t keep it long
x
Without worry,
We can hear the muffled sounds
Or spring and morning
Watch the white
Most of which will disappear
Before it’s trodden
Everywhere
x
No slush
No pushing it
This way or that
Simply have it
Behold the art
That won’t outlast the Grecian urn
Except by hours
Give credit to
The artist of the
Temporary beautiful
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C L Couch
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“The Artist of the Beautiful” is a short story by Nathaniel Hawthorne. “Ode to a Grecian Urn” is a poem by John Keats.
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Photo by Nadiia Ploshchenko on Unsplash
snowfall January 13th 2021
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(x = space)
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Overnight
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We got snowed on
Last night
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Not much
Enough to cover everything
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The new look
Will not last
x
People have to travel roads
To get to work
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And everything
x
C L Couch
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Photo by Nathan Wolfe on Unsplash
“Faceless Snowman”
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(x = space)
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On the First Day
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It’s Sunday
The day Al Roker
Announces in
An echo chamber
I’m not sure why
Maybe his mother
Told him to
Maybe because
It’s game day
I’ll have church
In a little while
Service and Sunday
School in a virtual
(and, yes,
hopefully virtuous)
Way
And the day will continue
We’re expecting snow
In the afternoon,
Over night into
Monday morning,
Which could make
The commute
A mess
x
C L Couch
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Photo by alexey turenkov on Unsplash
Published 1h ago
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(x = space)
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Easy Snow
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I might have gotten
In my car, not looking
At three inches’
Newfallen snow
Then got out again
Once I knew the source
Of the sudden darkness
(were it day)
These spits of snow
Have been the normal
For a while
Late winter?
Early spring?
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The groundhog is famous for
Inaccuracy,
Though the fairs are fun
In Punxsutawney
And who trusts a pampered
Creature to tell the weather,
Anyway?
We’d do better to
Look at the sides of wild trees
For direction
And the thickness of the fur
On the denizens
Therein
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C L Couch
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Photo by Babette Landmesser on Unsplash
Sun shines through winter trees on beautiful snowy ground.
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(x = space)
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Snow Overnight
(the forecast)
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Snow in the dark
Except where under
Artificial lights,
Maybe like renegades
Outside the windows
Of our homes
Or business locales
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Over the runway
Through trees
Sleeping gardens
Flying around steeples
It’s there
It might go well
To turn off the lights
Go outside
I have to recommend
In numbers
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But let them strike our flesh
Faces,
Wrists between our gloves
And sleeves
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Small hits, the kind that
Most of us can take
With the cold
In thirties Fahrenheit,
Knowing that heat awaits
Inside
After the dance
Or anything to learn
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C L Couch
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Photo by Robert Katzki on Unsplash
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(x = space)
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Isn’t It Romantic
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Moving shadows write the oldest magic word.
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Isn’t it romantic
All the snow
Pristine on tops of cars
That shouldn’t have to
Move just yet
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Sidewalks
Half undone
While scraping shovels
Focused machines
Work on the rest
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And isn’t it delightful
A snow day
Begging us to stop
Like toys
Wind up to unwind
For an hour
Of contemplation
Reading something new
Or press
Against a favorite
Page or person
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There are those
Addressing danger
They are blessed
And we should help them
After
The stolen hour is done
When we return
To epiphany
Of ordinary time
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C L Couch
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“Isn’t It Romantic”
Richard Rogers, Lorenz Hart
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Photo by Maddy Baker on Unsplash
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