Life With Horace

poetry & essays


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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

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