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

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3 comments on “

  1. dmfant says:

    With no wind blowing
    It sifts gently down,
    Enclosing my world in
    A cool white down,
    A tenderness of snowing.

    It falls and falls like sleep
    Till wakeful eyes can close
    On all the waste and loss
    As peace comes in and flows,
    Snow-dreaming what I keep.

    Silence assumes the air
    And the five senses all
    Are wafted on the fall
    To somewhere magical
    Beyond hope and despair.

    There is nothing to do
    But drift now, more or less
    On some great lovingness,
    On something that does bless,
    The silent, tender snow.

    “Snow Fall” by May Sarton

  2. Reblogged this on Quantum Est In Rebus Inane and commented:
    Great bit of Bugbee from Ed Mooney’s blog.

  3. Catlin Lowe says:

    It’s good to have you back, Ed.

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