Becoming Quiet

The snow has begun again. A few inches they say, enough
to cover the ground, the roads, line each branch with white
piled up, inch on inch of winter almost come.

Here at the diner, you eat alone. Two waitresses,
a dishwasher, a cook and yourself. No music playing today.
No hustle and bustle. Odd for a Monday.

The coffee is hot. Strong. The way you like it.
Maybe stronger for the fact that no one else is there.
It has had time to simmer. Hours perhaps. Oh yes, strong.

You are off today. There is no clock running. It can snow
all it likes and you are content. There will be time today
to think, to allow the feelings to show themselves.

That is your greatest luxury. Time. Empty time
to empty yourself into. To be. Simply that,
to calm your soul by emptying it

as the world grows quiet with snow.

About this poem

A poem about today’s snow. A poem about my (and maybe your?) yearning for peace. Poetry is never about one thing.

The picture is of the quarry across the street from my house in West Pawlet, VT.

Tom