The South Shore of Massachusetts, where I live, seems to have caught the brunt of the latest in our endless stream of snowstorms. Here’s my backyard, with the snow almost up to the top of that fence.
And here’s my driveway, looking across to my neighbor’s driveway:
Once upon a time I liked snow and I posted poems about it. Well, I just have one poem left. It was written by my son, back when he was young and cute and innocent, before we all learned about how evil snow is. It’s called “First Snow”:
I enjoy the first snow,
Even when other don’t,
The benches are layered white,
Everything changes overnight,
Snow puffed out like cotton candy,
Untouched by human feet,
Everything is perfect,
After the first snow.
He now needs to write a sequel called “Eleventy-First Snow” or something. Let’s find out how perfect everything is then.
