We have waited now for the snow
Too long, but now a thin veil of white
Covers the bleak black street, yes
The wonder of this night begins
As the covering courts the hope
Of depth—deep snow is what
We long for—the stoppage of hours
And duties and the closings. O
What joy that closure brings,
Not like a burial, exactly, but
The dead leaves and fern stumps
Are covered in a white funeral
Over the fuliginous pallet of earth.

Tomorrow we shall ski across
The countryside and through the
Silent woods; and then the next
Day dance through the powder
Of a nearby hill, celebrating
The unique pattern of each
Intelligible snowflake, unaccidental
Beauty from another world.

Ordained Servant Online, February, 2024.