One last snow post for the moment, as rain is forecast now and they say it may all clear soon. An earlier version of this poem was posted a couple of years ago; I haven’t made huge changes, though I’ve added line breaks and tweaked it a little.
It’s snowing, says someone who has peeked into the dark night,
and I wonder if the night is less dark because of the snow,
and if snow on a dark night tastes different from snow
on a moonlit night or snow in sunshine; I wonder whether
sunshine adds flavour to snow flakes, and if each flake
has its own six-edged flavour, and how a raindrop feels
when it is caught outside on a dark night, and how it feels
when it finds itself solidifying into white crystals like feathers;
I wonder whether each feather sings a different note, whether
the drifted snow at dawn will sing like a flock of birds awakening,
and whether I will hear it.
(The italicised line is a quote from Charles Simic)