We had a really nasty snowstorm last weekend. I was the Person-in-Charge (PIC) of our library last Friday and scheduled to work from 9:30 AM until closing at 6:15 PM. Fortunately, our library director got approval from the Board to close at noon that day. There was freezing rain by 2:30 PM, and about 6-7 inches of snow accumulated overnight. I know some places in the U.S. have it worse, but that 6-7 inches of snow was terrible enough for the small town of Wooster, Ohio.
People joke about Ohio weather, how it drastically changes from one day to the next. Just when you think it’s starting to warm up, Mother Nature interferes and reminds you that it’s still winter.
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary,
It rains, and the wind is never weary…
— Henry Wordsworth Longfellow
Today’s poem fits our still-chilly, still-dreary, sloppy-slushy weather. It’s a selection from The Poets Laureate Anthology, edited by Elizabeth Hun Schmidt, with a foreword by Billy Collins.
Poetry Friday round-up is hosted by Kay
at A Journey Through the Pages.
Lines for Winter
for Ros Krauss
Tell yourself as it gets cold and gray falls from the air that you will go on walking, hearing the same tune no matter where you find yourself— inside the dome of dark or under the cracking white of the moon's gaze in a valley of snow. Tonight as it gets cold tell yourself what you know which is nothing but the tune your bones play as you keep going. And you will be able for once to lie down under the small fire of winter stars. And if it happens that you cannot go on or turn back and you find yourself where you will be at the end, tell yourself in that final flowing of cold through your limbs that you love what you are.