Even though we didn’t get our first real snow here in northern Michigan until after New Year’s, I am feeling ready for spring. We always get one last big spring snowstorm, usually in late March or early April, but maybe tonight’s expected snowmageddon is it.
I love this poem, and it helps me remember to think of that last snowstorm as a blessing, one of those opportunities for joy (and one last time snowshoeing), rather than a curse.
Snow, Aldo
by Kate DiCamillo
Once, I was in New York,
in Central Park, and I saw
an old man in a black overcoat walking
a black dog. This was springtime
and the trees were still
bare and the sky was
gray and low and it began, suddenly,
to snow:
big fat flakes
that twirled and landed on the
black of the man's overcoat and
the black dog's fur. The dog
lifted his face and stared
up at the sky. The man looked
up, too. "Snow, Aldo," he said to the dog,
"snow." And he laughed.
The dog looked
at him and wagged his tail.
If I was in charge of making
snow globes, this is what I would put inside:
the old man in the black overcoat,
the black dog,
two friends with their faces turned up to the sky
as if they were receiving a blessing,
as if they were being blessed together
by something
as simple as snow
in March.
Although the photo is missing man and dog, its title is Friends, which makes it a good fit. Thanks as always to www.pointnorthphotography.com for permission to use it.
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