One evening some time ago, Randall Wehler was sitting in his Moorhead home, totally landlocked due to a blizzard which had just whipped through the area.
“Biding my time,” Randall wrote “Neighbors,” “I composed a poem others may like to read.”
Here it is.
“Ode to snow”
I see that white flakes are falling from the sky.
Just ask the meteorologist the question “Why?”
Such a beautiful, gentle coating of the ground;
Earth’s renewal that comes with nary a sound.
Will children be building snowmen with a grin?
Will they make snow angels with a cheery din?
Currier and Ives pictures drift through my mind;
Horse-driven sleigh rides for ancestors so kind.
The wind picks up, more snow blown sideways.
Fearing the worst, I enter my garage in a daze.
My shovel and scraper stand, propped to the wall;
I will scoop it away and maybe that will be all.
To the TV I go to get the largest report;
A good source of info to which I often resort.
A blizzard surely is coming, and I let out a yelp!
If I cuss at the sky, it will provide just no help.
At my window I watch sculpted drifts be formed;
Perhaps nature’s art work without getting forlorn.
The day grows longer into a night yet to come;
Winds outside roaring, sound of torture to some.
As day dawns sun-lit, the snow blower won’t go.
Then I pick up my shovel and say “That’s just so.”
I create my own sculptures with snow piled high.
It’s almost three hours later when I let out a sigh.
Perhaps a winter’s revenge on a summer so nice;
It’s consolation I seek as I view all this ice!
If you have an item of interest for this column, mail it to Neighbors, The Forum, Box 2020, Fargo, ND 58107, fax it to 701-241-5487 or email firstname.lastname@example.org.