We went to bed Monday night with the weather report buzzing in our ears. Because we’re retired, the buzzing didn’t keep us awake. We had no place to go Tuesday morning so the status of schools and the thickness of ice on the roads didn’t apply.
I didn’t expect any evidence of a winter visit Tuesday morning. But as I looked at some of my favorite firs and cedars, it was as if someone had splashed drops of white snow randomly on their branches. You can see above the remains of Tuesday’s snow.
As clearly as if someone was speaking, I remembered the first lines of Mary Oliver’s poem, White Eyes: