Dear Gods of Winter,
This year I have exclaimed over the beauty of your sparkling abundance,
I have photographed the crystalline wonders of your creation,
I have sled with small children in the wake of your glory.
I have dutifully shoveled the fruits of your labors,
even bringing your pearlescent bounty into my home
to warm upon the cockles of my stove
(So that we might flush our toilets.)
Now, this eve, as I anticipate your return again,
I BESEECH you
bring your snow!
Bring enough that we might have glistening, unblemished coverage
over the landscapes,
and the golden marks outside the door left by the dog
(and the boys last week)
I am but a humble writer who has lost four days
of the solitude in which I strive to hone my craft.
But as such, I am willing,
to lay down once more,
past the 5:50 automated call from the school
and the 6:20 iPhone alarm
and watch another day of productivity
disappear under the layers of your alabaster magnificence.
I pray, if you must,
if it pleases you,
bring an excess of gleaming, pearlescent whiteness!
So that their school may well be canceled
and we all might be inspired to sled once more
Upon the neighbor's frosty hillside
And skate upon the glassy glory of your frozen waters.
But Gods of Winter, I throw myself at your mercy and
oh, I beg you
Leave your icy daggers, your fallen limbs, your cursed power outtages behind!
So that tomorrow,
and only tomorrow
I might revel in your glory, and watch
the milky piles of your majesty
and also perchance "The Sound of Music"
(the real one, I vow, not that Carrie Underwood shit)
with my daughter.
* *** *