Tuesday, January 15, 1963
No wind stirs.
At Zero Fahrenheit the flakes of snow are not at all large.
Incredibly lightly and unwaveringly they fall.
A myriad of them fills our meadow round the house.
One sees them best looking at the trees beyond.
Their falling accentuates the still-standing trees, the dark trunks.
And the still of the trees is the nearness of falling snow.
Occasiona11y, in the meadow, a weed nods and lifts again.
The low fire on the hearth is even more discreet.
Henry Bugbee, A Way of Reading the Book of Job