Snow

On Thursday, when the snow began and I had to drive through it to The Bean’s bus stop (an hour and forty minutes to go seven miles), and then I got stuck part way up the driveway, I could only see it as a menace.

And on Friday, I was still so tired from that ordeal and grouchy about so much snow so late in winter.

But by yesterday morning, under the a thin blue sky and sunshine, I saw how beautiful it was, and I thought of of Anne Sexton’s poem, Snow:

The ground has on its clothes.
The trees poke out of sheets

and each branch wears the sock of God.

Read the whole poem here. And remember that storms sometimes cede to beauty.