Snow Big Deal

Set adrift again

Mar 01, 2026

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

BLIZZARD 

the snow
has forgotten
how to stop
it falls
stuttering
at the glass
a silk windsock
of snow
blowing
under the porch light
tangling trees
which bend
like old women
snarled
in their own
knitting
snow drifts
up to the step
over the doorsill
a pointillist’s blur
the wedding
of form and motion
shaping itself
to the wish of
any object it touches
chairs become
laps of snow
the moon could be
breaking apart
and falling
over the eaves
over the roof
a white bear

- Linda Pastan, brought to you from the Poetry Foundation site. It describes the blizzard experience with such clarity.

Snow stacks against the front door and encrusts the chicken netting that protects my pansies from cervine and lapine invasion. I guess I am not going anywhere.

This weekend

Free from the cloying presence of 20-odd inches of snow piled against the front and garage doors, it’s hard to take my mind back to last weekend’s snowstorm. Curled up in bed, warm under a patchwork quilt, two hungry cats becoming increasingly agitated, I listen to Neil Sedaka (RIP) and riffle through pictures and scribbled notes. The past, very snowy weekend seems impossibly far away, memories dissolving rapidly, replaced by new thoughts, new feelings, new emotions. Three or four redwing blackbirds are by the bird feeders. The signs of spring, though muted, are elbowing their way in. Snow is still thick on the ground. By tomorrow, most of it will be gone.

a mechanical pencil tip and scribbled writing on a notebook page — Through the week, I scribble notes on a notepad, trying hard to pin down memories of the storm.

Saturday, a week ago

patio with chairs, potted plants and a thick layer of snow, now melting rapidly — On Saturday, the four-week-old layer of snow slowly starts to pull away from the edges. The perennials in the pots are starting to green. A song sparrow fills the morning air with its melody.

My lack of preparation for the previous storm spurs me into action on Saturday. I shop for groceries, stop at the pharmacy, pick up a squirrel baffle for the finch feeder, and fill all the feeders. In the afternoon, Lena asks if anyone wants to play board games at Jamesbrew. Chores done, I join the group in a couple of games of the Partridge Family. The game requires no skills and allows us to chat about everything and nothing.

Sunday

There is little sign of precipitation on Sunday morning as I prepare for the week ahead. Late in the afternoon, the snow starts falling. I settle down to my origami project, Luca beside me, Tabby perched on the loft railing, glaring down at us, defying gravity. It’s not long before the patio chairs, pots and bushes look like frosted confectionery. Snow is sticking to the rosy paper birch trunks. My phone dings - it’s a message from work, saying the site is closed the following day.

the pots, bushes and patio chair are now covered with a layer of fresh snow — On Sunday evening, the freshly frosted patio looks good enough to eat.

pinkish paper birch branches with a layer of snow — The rough bark of the paper birches catch the snow that the wind tosses their way.

Monday

When I get out of bed at 6 a.m. on Monday morning, there is a huge pile of snow all the way up to the front door and it is snowing heavily. In the soft dawn light, the blue-tinted views from my windows are magical. The birds line up at the feeders, perched on every branch of the tree above, swooping down to get stake their claims. The mild-mannered cardinals sit higher up, waiting for their chance. When one doesn’t come, they fly away dejectedly, scattering snow in their wake. An egg hisses and spits loudly on the stove, calling my attention back from the window to my breakfast preparations.

seen through a glass pane with droplets of moisture is a thick layer of snow on patio furniture — The view from my back door early on Monday morning.

a snow-covered landscape in the blue dawn light — The sweat on window panes adds a softness and mystery to this snowscape.

dark tree and shrub branches and white snow, seen through a snow-flecked window pane — The window screen catches the thick snowflakes - nature creates its own filters and effects.

By late afternoon, the birds have had enough. Mourning doves sit heavily on birch branches, looking glum. The sparrows, finches and juncos are still feasting at the feeders.

mourning doves on snow-covered branches of a birch tree — Mourning doves live up to their name and glower silently on the trees, willing the snow to stop.

The snow eases off in the afternoon. By nightfall, the sky starts to clear and I see a bright sliver of moon as I get ready for bed.

night scene with trees, snow, and a crescent moon

Thanks for reading None the Wiser! This post is public so feel free to share it.

Tuesday

As dawn breaks the next day, I can see that the snow plow was hard at work. The roads are clear. My driveway and walkway, not so much. A neighbor posts winter survival tips. “Dust snow off the outdoor gas regulator,” he says. If only I could get to it.

I call Flo to check on her. As we chat, I glance towards the bird feeders. One has disappeared. I look down and see a tiny piece of its handle sticking out of the snow. The baffle is nowhere to be seen. I pull on my boots, a heavy jacket, gloves, grab the snow shovel and march outside. The snow is easy to move. It’s a wet snow that packs well, perfect for making snowmen. I create a rough path to the fallen feeder. It is packed with snow. The baffle is nearby. I bring both into the garage.

Later in the day, I hear the bobcats rumble heavily on my driveway clearing it. When I get lunch, I notice that the walkway is clean too. Neighbors post pictures of their snow menageries. 20” of snow, someone comments.

In the evening, I spy the bird feeder and baffle, now devoid of snow. I haul a stepladder out to hang them on a higher, more secure branch.

a dawn scene with snow-covered homes and trees, the sun beginning to rise and the roadway cleared of snow — The sun peeks out on Tuesday morning. Snow plows were busy all night, so the streets are clear.

Wednesday

It’s the middle of the week by the time they clear the snow from all the parking lots at work and let us back on site. I go through Wednesday morning chores at my usual pace. Chatting with Mum on the phone, I open the front door. There are snowflakes floating down gently and there’s a thin layer on the ground. A squirrel scrambles up the tree, runs along to the finch feeder then doubles back in disgust, frustrated by the newly acquired baffle. In seconds, he is below the kitchen window, giving me the stink eye.

After my 8 am meeting, I open the garage door and lift the shovel down from its hook. There is a delicate tracery of bird tracks in the snow , dotted here and there with paw prints. The squirrel? The resident fox? I can’t tell.

Paw prints in snow — Something has left its mark on the driveway - a squirrel? A fox?

Although the trees are mostly bare by now, small pockets of snow still linger in the crooks of branches.

pockets of snow in the crooks of tree branches — The trees are mostly bare again. Small mounds of snow sit like strange growths in the crevices.

None the Wiser

Discussion about this post

Ready for more?