Sabbath 7:31am Jan 11, 2025
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For later, forecast proclaims:

snow showers for much of the day,
but in our temperate clime, rarely
do we get inches or feats of accumulation,
but it will be chill enough to turn my
heavy duty “Icer” navy coat to its
whiteout version, where the flakes
individually attach themselves to
to fat fabric for self-preservation,
displaying their distinct DNA patterns of intricate crystallization artwork on a
gallery of me…

assuredly, some will attach to eyelashes
and extruded tongue, perhaps inhaled,
in nostril and open mouth, as I employ
all my senses to retain, retrain, my brain,
to walk alongside a saltwater estuary that
welcomes every flake as a long lost son and
daughter, who has returned from its prodigal global journey around the world, to melt back into a mother’s currents embrace, returning
home to my patch of briefly occupied spatial, white palatial existence

I anticipate the taste of snow to be a
multi~flavored cone, souvenirs, accrued
while globe trotting, with hints ofAsian
spices, on a riverbed of Italian red
peppery tomato sauce, the crusty
spicy fabric of the fried chickpeas of the Middle East, the cilantro stinging of Latin continents,and pretend that my nature
wetted cheeks  are so because I cry & walk alone, sadness flavored, wishing I could partake of this snowy journey repast, with you by my side, for how much better would this global travelled whirlpool repast  of white ice and scented airs, tastes if it could be joyfully shared

but I am by myself,
sensibly refused companionship
by others, and my
voyaged meditation now,
well ended,
well recall,
Whitman’s Song of Myself (1) conclusion:
                          
“You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self”

join me?

evening after snow
the trees limbs
are limned in light

after a mornings snowmelt
the next morning
dawns

Dead trees,
White snow,
Green pines,
And a long way to go.

Anxiety and Fear

Looks like you’re holding a snow globe so intricate and sweet.
Once shaken, the snow starts falling in big sheets.

For this fragile snow globe is not ever really clear.
When it’s shaken and shaken again, then comes the fear.

You can’t see inside to the beautiful scene.
You start to panic; will the view ever be clean?

You keep shaking the snow globe harder and harder, and then,
The questions and anxiety creep right on in.

Will I ever get to see into this beautiful globe?
Why is it so hard to see through the snow?

Why is it like this, what did I do this time?
I’m always ruining something I feel every time .

This perfect snow globe will never be the same.
Why does it feel like I’m going insane?

I’m a huge mess of tears and fears.
This precious snow globe doesn’t deserve to be here.

I then take a seat and set the globe down.
Upon my face, there’s such a big frown.

I’m upset with myself; what did I do?
I’ve broken something beautiful, shiny, and new.

It’s then when I look at that snow in the globe start to slow down.
It starts to settle back down to the ground.

I start to breathe slower; the tears and fear calm their war.
It is then that I realize what I have done, and all becomes clear—

that I do have some power over my anxiety and fear.

Leanne

What will become of me?
Where will i go?
When the high hill paths are closed to me,
Escape, blocked in with snow.

Shall i now live in barren tundra?
And wait for new spring thaws.
Or anticipate the thunder,
So board up all my doors.

To risk the high hill paths,
At this late time of year.
Or barricade myself in thoughts,
Squalid solitude; and fear.

See one path leads to heaven,
And one leads straight to hell.
Do you know what will become of me?
I Promise i wont tell.

Nix liquefactum est,
Venit usque in gramina.
Capulus et sugar,
Tu, me, et ver.