Waiting for Snow

It's Saturday afternoon, and our predicted snow has just begun to fall. Since I have been sick all week, I am hoping I feel well enough by the time this storm is over that I can get out to revel in its beauty and share images of that beauty here on my blog. In the meantime, and on just one day past the first anniversary of the poet Mary Oliver's death, I have steeped myself in the beauty of her poem about pending snowfall.  I  share that poem here.

Walking Home From Oak-Head
by Mary Oliver

There is something
about the snow-laden sky
in winter
in the late afternoon

that brings to the heart elation
and the lovely meaninglessness
of time.
Whenever I get home -- whenever --

somebody loves me there.
Meanwhile
I stand in the same dark peace
as any pine tree,

or wander on slowly
like the still unhurried wind,
waiting,
as for a gift,

for the snow to begin
which it does
at first casually,
then, irrepressibly.

Wherever else I live --
in music, in words,
in the fires of the heart,
I abide just as deeply

in this nameless, indivisible place,
this world,
which is falling apart now,
which is white and wild,

which is faithful beyond all our expressions of faith,
our deepest prayers.
Don't worry, sooner or later I'll be home.
Red-cheeked from the roused wind,

I'll stand in the doorway
stamping my boots and slapping my hands,
my shoulders
covered with stars.