Archives for posts with tag: snow

i haven’t time to capitalize properly or to explain to college students who nathan (“i regret i have but one life to give for my country”) hale was. ever since i woke up today, i’ve been busy counting snowstorms – fourteen so far, which is already two more than yesterday. the skinny old man shoveling the sidewalk staggers under the weight of his load. there’s a camera being developed for satellites that can view facial expressions from space. don’t worry, I tell him, the government can’t constitutionally use it yet. and unless you live somewhere sunny, they can’t see you anyway.

Howie Good’s latest book of poetry is The Complete Absence of Twilight (2014) from MadHat Press. He co-edits White Knuckle Press with Dale Wisely, who does most of the real work.

Looking out the high-rise window into a fog so dense that it blurs an afternoon sky deep into the thawing river, that wash of gray as far as everything, a world of gray, except for the squares of snow, which from above in high-rise relief appear as boxes of city park and tree guard and trash bin, you think about leaving.

Tomorrow isn’t different, except the sun shines, and the banks of the river suddenly appear, and you see the place on the cliffs where you went on that day trip—back when every rattling bus ride was an adventure.

–Sharon Rousseau is a writer, photographer and poet living in NYC and the Hudson Valley. Visit her website.