If you have seen the snow
under the lamppost
piled up like a white beaver hat on the picnic table
or somewhere slowly falling
into the brook
to be swallowed by water,
then you have seen beauty
and know it for its transience. . .

~ Excerpt from Winter Grace, Patricia Fagnoli

I see the sun come up from bed, a reddish splash above the river. I find my skis and boots and gather my friends. We go to the river, walking straight into a ball of sun flashing over the snow. Such a smooth, sugary powder, an easy glide into the morning calm, the lush morning sun shining on the ice-patched river, the black ribbon of unfrozen down the middle. It’s not a day for taking photos; the ice is hidden under this fluffy powder. It’s a day for my hands on the poles, freezing at first, but warming up. I make a trail all around our property, under and around the trees, the river, the wetlands, around the garden, across the open field, and then I go off into the Trustees trails, cross the bubbling burbling brook of life, and the dogs are with me, Suzi trotting just behind. I meet no one; I glide into the spangled silence. The conditions like this, so rare. I am so satisfied and blissed. Indoors, I have prep to do, emails to send, I line up two new features for the IWWG Open mic, and I work on a poem from the letters, but I have a board committee meeting and I don’t give my poem the focus it deserves––it’s okay, but I have cheated it a bit. I find myself committing to myself: I want to get three good poems from the letters done by next week. I will set the alarm. Snow tomorrow, and more powder, I hope. This is a reason to be here now.