Saturday, January 29, 2011

Winter Can't Get Me Down

I have been away from this bog for awhile. Some of my time has been involved with outdoor activities. The activities are not skiing or ice skating. My principle activity has been snow clearing. This winter has been extremely unusual. The meteorologists call the phenomena the "Pacific North Action". The air currents curve from our West Coast up to the Artic and then descend to the warmer waters of the Gulf thereby picking up the moisture. Viola, we have a snow maker.

The snow makes fantastic patterns. Besides becoming concerned about the weight of the snow on my roof and possible leaks there has to be space to find solace. My thoughts ran back to the past when a creative writing professor self published books of poetry. One poem is titled "The Big Snow". My copy of the book is stored somewhere in the attic along with other books that haven't been read in a long time. Maybe I will have time to search for it before the next snowfall or maybe when spring comes and the snow melts. Then I will have words and images to remember this winter.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Ice Storm

We had an ice storm this week. Here is the birch tree in our front yard. It was hazardous and yet looking at this tree glazed with ice I was reminded of Robert Frost's poem Birches.

Here are the opening lines of his poem.




When I see birches bend to left and right

Across the lines of straighter darker trees,

I like to think some boy's been swinging them.

But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay

As ice-storms do.  Often you must have seen them

Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning

After a rain.  They click upon themselves

As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored

As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.

Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells

Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust--

Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away

You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.

They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,

And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed

So low for long, they never right themselves: