It's a winter wonderland out there. The snow started early this afternoon, and campus shut down around noon. Stephen and I stayed late to tie up the last loose ends at the office before leaving for a lengthy break, and walked home together through hushed streets as the sky turned from blue to purple to that particular shade of orange created by street lights reflecting off a dense blanket of clouds. The sidewalks were thick with snowdrifts, so we walked right in the middle of the street, moving aside when cars appeared. It was quiet and still on the side streets; we felt like we were in another world, a dream world, or underwater. I love snow almost as much as I love fog. I like weather that makes the world feel closer to you. It makes me think of Fog, one of the first Carl Sandburg poems I ever read. Here's another of his that I like:
Prairie Waters by Night
Chatter of birds two by two raises a night song joining a litany of running water--sheer waters showing the russet of old stones remembering many rains.
And the long willows drowse on the shoulders of the running water, and sleep from much music; joined songs of day-end, feather throats and stony waters, in a choir chanting new psalms.
It is too much for the long willows when low laughter of a red moon comes down; and the willows drowse and sleep on the shoulders of the running water.
And this one:
Hats
Hats, where do you belong?
what is under you?
On the rim of a skyscraper's forehead
I looked down and saw: hats: fifty thousand hats
Swarming with a noise of bees and sheep, cattle and waterfalls, Stopping with a silence of sea grass, a silence of prairie corn.
Hats: tell me your high hopes.
