in the midst of the polar vortex
a call goes out
a friend offers to drive us all to the movies
preston- holding down the fort at the theater
sells us popcorn, beverages, and tickets
menu offers a movie combo of cocktails and popcorn
the movie was great
the company was great
felt like we were skipping school
to just have a day of fun
we forgot about the polar vortex outside
we laughed and cried
we’ll never tell who chose which beverage:
coffee, tall soda, sippy-cup ‘o wine.
choose your own adventure.
everyone needs someone who will call them and say,
“get dressed, we’re going on an adventure.”
Today we woke up to a revolution of snow,
its white flag waving over everything,
the landscape vanished,
not a single mouse to punctuate the blankness,
and beyond these windows
the government buildings smothered,
schools and libraries buried, the post office lost
under the noiseless drift,
the paths of trains softly blocked,
the world fallen under this falling.
In a while, I will put on some boots
and step out like someone walking in water,
and the dog will porpoise through the drifts,
and I will shake a laden branch
sending a cold shower down on us both.
But for now I am a willing prisoner in this house,
a sympathizer with the anarchic cause of snow.
I will make a pot of tea
and listen to the plastic radio on the counter,
as glad as anyone to hear the news
that the Kiddie Corner School is closed,
the Ding-Dong School, closed.
the All Aboard Children’s School, closed,
the Hi-Ho Nursery School, closed,
along with—some will be delighted to hear—
the Toadstool School, the Little School,
Little Sparrows Nursery School,
Little Stars Pre-School, Peas-and-Carrots Day School
the Tom Thumb Child Center, all closed,
and—clap your hands—the Peanuts Play School.
So this is where the children hide all day,
These are the nests where they letter and draw,
where they put on their bright miniature jackets,
all darting and climbing and sliding,
all but the few girls whispering by the fence.
And now I am listening hard
in the grandiose silence of the snow,
trying to hear what those three girls are plotting,
what riot is afoot,
which small queen is about to be brought down.
credit: Billy Collins, “Snow Day” from Sailing Alone Around the Room: New and Selected Poems (New York: Random House, 2001). Copyright © 2001 by Billy Collins.
thank you so much
for calling me
to give me
the good news.
it’s officially a snow day!
image credit: googleimages
snow day coming?
image credit: inkedoutloud
for some of us
image credit: tanya moutzalias – mlive
once in a while
there are those perfect days
when holidays collide
today is one such day
an official snow day from school
a surprise gift from the universe
and i will celebrate both
“today is “ground-hog’s day” in many parts of the united states,
and candlemas day in many other parts of the world.
from time immemorial,
it has been a critical day in the affairs of the weather.
the character of the second of february is
really of much more importance
than whether the first of march comes in like a lion or a lamb.”
the simplest form of the adage is:—
if candlemas day be bright and clear,
there’ll be two winters in that year.
~hartford courant, 1877
image credits: genuinemudpie.org, brownie groundhog, the february fox, by susan blackaby
very recently – warm and easy near the equator, nice way to wake up,
with a call from the sea, bringing news of a day,
where the biggest question is which size coconut to choose.
and even more recently – warm and tucked in, home again in the great white north, nice way to wake up,
with a call from the weather robot, bringing news of a snow day off of school
where the biggest question is which size down comforter to choose.
Traveling is seeing; it is the implicit that we travel by. Cynthia Ozick