Tuesday, January 15, 1963

No wind stirs.

At Zero Fahrenheit the flakes of snow are not at all large.

Incredibly lightly and unwaveringly they fall.

A myriad of them  fills our meadow round the house.

One sees them best looking at the trees beyond.

Their falling accentuates the still-standing trees, the dark trunks.

And the still of the trees is the nearness of  falling snow.

Occasiona11y, in the meadow, a weed nods and lifts again.

The low fire on the hearth is even more discreet.

Henry Bugbee, A Way of Reading the Book of Job