The first snow.
A blank page . . .
Fields of fresh-fallen snow
Unbroken and undisturbed
“Isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?” -Anne of G.G.
(The new year is the tomorrow of the old, and is now here.)
(The first real snow of this winter here
In the North Country)
And blank space
and words born from the silence:
Suppose we did our work
like the snow, quietly, quietly,
leaving nothing out.
And many new days and blank pages
Waiting to be filled
Most of all
I can think of little more needed
Or more valuable.
Be still my soul.