out there on the ice again

out there on the ice again

Today it snowed in Oxford. Or rather, it started snowing last night.

This was on my way to tutorial.

Today I made tomato soup for lunch, got in a snowball fight, and wore long underwear which left itchy rings around my ankles when I took them off.

It's amusing that there seems to be some sort of compulsive, childlike enthusiasm created by the white, fluffy stuff. Still, it always seems miraculous to wake up to one big blanket of it.

My favorite thing to do is to go out in the middle of the night when it's snowing and walk around the streets of town. It has to be really, really quiet - so quiet you can hear the snow flakes fall on your head. It feels like you own the city.






This poem reminds me of my sister. She's turning fifteen (!) in a matter of days. I wonder how much longer she'll believe everything I tell her.

Snow - David Berman


Walking through a field with my little brother Seth

I pointed to a place where kids had made angels in the snow.

For some reason, I told him that a troop of angels

had been shot and dissolved when they hit the ground.

He asked who had shot them and I said a farmer.

Then we were on the roof of the lake.

The ice looked like a photograph of water.

Why he asked. Why did he shoot them.

I didn't know where I was going with this.

They were on his property, I said.

When it's snowing, the outdoors seem like a room.

Today I traded hellos with my neighbor.

Our voices hung close in the new acoustics.

A room with the walls blasted to shreds and falling.

We returned to our shoveling, working side by side in silence.

But why were they on his property, he asked.