We are surrounded
tall snow drifts like ocean waves
blown to our house door—
I shovel an exit to
shallow depths on field beyond.
When the snow came I was so engaged with shoveling and mourning the-first-snow-that-would-stay that I didn’t write about it. This morning I remembered TJ’s prompt: ‘drift’ which really says it all. The snow blew in three foot drifts to the front door, garage door and all around the house. You could and can still see the grass poking through the thin layer out on the field.