Life With Horace

poetry & essays


Snow Terrarium

I stand quite still, snared by
unaccustomed silence
backlit in a pool of warmth
and kitchen candle light
looking out at darkness
intimate in thick falling snow
soundproofing all that lies
beyond its edge
Until a car appears
creeping down the mountain arm
headlights poking through
lace curtain flakes
wheels soundless on the road
deeply masked by white
A traveler almost surely blind
determination understood
and much admired by me
We share this moment
and our quiet space
until my door is shut again
and he has passed us by

The world is well lost and soundless when it snows here. Like an infant’s view of life our boundaries shrink for a bit.