Life in Sixty Miles
It is Vermont weather, rain at your house in the valley,
snow in the mountains, and sleet.
The roads south are closed and for a time you were stranded,
waiting for a snowplow to get you home.
You followed it far. Maybe thirty miles,
so slow you could let your eye wander,
a bad habit of yours picked up from your grandfather,
seeing the ice-covered farms slither up the mountainsides,
It becomes a long morning,
but as you top the mountain, the temperature rises
and the snow cycles to sleet, and then rain,
another thirty miles to your little town.
By the time you arrive, the sun shines
and the fields are green again. Sheep frolic.
The whole cycle of life in sixty miles.
Tonight they predict a blizzard.
About this poem.
Yeah, this happened this morning. My wife took the picture with my phone as we followed the snowplow up from Stratton. And tonight, they predict 8″-15″. Weather in Vermont. Life in general. The poem is just having fun with the situation, making something out of something messy. What do you do?
Have a great weekend.