Tis Pity He's a Writer

Richard Daybell – Novels, stories and short humor

An Ode to Snow Revisited

This month is the two-year anniversary of this blog.  One of my first few posts is still appropriate to the season, so I offer it again, with apologies to both of you who read it the first time around.

Warning – the following is quite lyrical.

O glorious snow surrounding me with immense drifty mounds!  What do thy mounds conceal?  How many cocker spaniels, small children, miniCoopers have you swallowed, not to be seen again until May.  I am quite conscious of those mounds surrounding me, looming, as I go to fetch the mail, keeping close to the shoveled path lest I too be lost in the mounds ‘til May.  But the path is icy (for that’s what winter is about – snow and ice, ice and snow) and my feet, which have been more accustomed to soft earth, grassy carpeting, fly out from neath me. I fall to the cruel ice.  And here I am in a place from which I never thought I’d be needing to shout:  “Help me.  I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.”  But I’m not going to shout, for it seems my mouth is frozen to the icy path.  O glorious ice!  Ice that holds me close to its vast but damn cold bosom.  I wait, hoping that someone will come along – a girl scout  peddling cookies, a hot dog vendor, or the UPS man delivering a package of lip warmers.  Or have they too been swallowed by the shifting, whispering mounds of snow?  I tell myself it could be worse; I could be in Chicago.  It doesn’t help.  Now my life flashes before me, especially the part where I’m on a beach in the Caribbean.   But what’s this?  My face is stuck in the sand.  Children frolic nearby, pointing and laughing.  “Hey, mon, why’s your face in the sand?”  Tanned beauties stroll by at a safe distance whispering about senility and too many pina coladas.    A sand crab sidles up and pinches my nose, and I’m suddenly back in frozen Vermont.  But help seems to be at hand.

Two Jehovah’s Witnesses approach.   They look down at me and ask,  “Are you ready to be saved?”  “Doesn’t it look like I’m ready to be saved?” I shout, but no words come out.   They chip me free from the ice with their Watchtowers.  I thank them, accept an armload of their publications, and they ask me if I’m ready for the end of the world.  You betcha.

12 comments on “An Ode to Snow Revisited

  1. mimijk
    January 8, 2013

    Love this Richard! Happy Anniversary!!


  2. elroyjones
    January 8, 2013

    hahahahahaha! Happy Anniversary!


  3. craigdunford
    January 8, 2013

    Wow! Where was I? Oh yeah, 2 years ago I was still on my Atari. Glad you resubmitted, and that you let your warped mind loose. Congrats, Ig


  4. Kenton Lewis
    January 8, 2013

    Good job, Richard. Except of liberal spewing not bad at all. Of course I wouldn’t want you spewing conservative crap either. So, I have a choice it looks like. Just be yourself.


  5. Joel
    January 8, 2013

    I grew up in Michigan and just this morning my sister (who still lives there) sent me this poem along with a photo of an snow sculpture of a man sitting in an outhouse …

    ” Its winter in Michigan and the gentle breezes blow, 70 miles per hour at 52 below!
    Oh, how I love Michigan, when the snow is up to your butt
    You take a breath of winter air, and your nose is frozen shut.
    Yes, the weather here is wonderful.
    You may think I’m a fool; I could never leave Michigan,
    Cause I’m frozen to the stool.”

    Your blog was timed perfectly. Happy Anniversary!

    But has it been just two years?


    • Richard Daybell
      January 9, 2013

      Appropriate poetry for us rugged northerners. Not for you fair weather types down in Alabama of course. Yeah, just two years. It only seems longer.


  6. Beth Crane
    January 8, 2013

    It seems like just yesteryear that you started this blog, FIL. It just gets better and better! (Ponder that!)


    • Richard Daybell
      January 9, 2013

      Actually, I peaked somewhere around 1955. But, thank you. I’ll ponder.


  7. docdick
    January 22, 2013

    After crawling out of three feet of snow in your previous home town where I still hang my shingle I can say we are bonded. Your poetry warmed me but the smog and single digit temps still eat away at my carcass. Hail to you, my brother, preserve my health with your messages until things thaw out.


    • Richard Daybell
      January 23, 2013

      Ha! At least my previous home town has some degrees. My current home town has a deficit of degrees. But I will set another piece of furniture ablaze, warm my hands and carry on until your shingle is free of icicles.


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This entry was posted on January 8, 2013 by in It's a Jungle Out There, Life Is (Fill in Blank) and tagged , , , , , , .

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