I walked with some neighbors, helped folks out of snowbanks, righted garbage cans and threw snowballs for Felix.
Every driver (WTF) was a guy, fishtailing up and down the hills. What's so important you gotta drive your Hyundai without snow tires AND STOP at the stop sign? People who grew up in snow don't drive in this sh*t. The only woman we saw was the mail carrier and she had chains. Duh!
I feel like I've been in the house for eleventy thousand hours. And I didn't even watch the Grammys. Sheesh.
I'm reading and writing instead. Reading Tommy Orange's book, There, There. It's so good. And listening to Mozart.
Ask Me
Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made. Ask me whether
what I've done is my life. Others
have come in their slow way into
my thought, and some have tried to help
or to hurt: ask me what difference
their strongest love or hate has made.
I will listen to what you say.
You and I can turn and look
at the silent river and wait. We know
the current is there, hidden: and there
are comings and goings from miles away
that hold the stillness exactly before us.
What the river says, that is what I say.
-William Stafford
3 comments:
It's wild how much snow Seattle is getting! I love that William Stafford poem so much -- a man I sort of fell in love with for a day gave it to me. And yes to Tommy Orange -- that book is amazing and original and beautiful.
The last line of that poem says everything.
It looks so beautiful and silent. But snow makes life harder and I hope at least some of it will go soon.
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