Surfing in Snow
A dusting of snow on the car.
A bit more falling in the morning gray.
It’s not supposed to snow, but
the weather in Vermont is erratic,
un predictable and strange,
a meteorologist’s nightmare.
Predictable madness has its own charm.
You learn to surf
whatever comes. What ever is.
Fears shrink, season by season,
each one you survived weakens worry,
strengthens delight, the ability to live
in the moment. So let it snow
until it doesn’t. You don’t care.
It’s all beautiful.
About this poem.
It is snowing outside right now. It’s not supposed to.
Life in a nutshell.