Our snow is gone now but two mornings ago we had enough to cover the ground. I glanced at the headlines when I went out to get the paper.
It reminded me of this poem, written after a similar morning experience years ago when I was at work on GOOSE LAKE.
Morning snow lies zippered with clues for mystery readers. Did night spirits nod mall-walker greetings -- “Evening, Opossum,” “Evening, Skunk,” -- or conceal slyer agendas? What creature crouched outside my door, savoring hints of lasagna scraps and chocolate? Here, Big-Tracks lunges after Small-Tracks, their encounter scuffling the snow. Here, Big-Tracks drags its trophy, smoothing a path rabbit wide. Hooves like Valentines cut in half examine my pool, unsafely tempted by day. Nimble paws gain my planter, leap down, turn the corner; birdless feathers tent like pick-up-sticks beneath my feeder. I read quickly. Today’s wind soon sweeps old stories out of print.