Eating blue grapes near the window
and looking out
at the snow-covered valley.
For a moment, the deep world
gazing back. Then a blue jay
scatters snow from a bough.
No world, no meeting. Only
tremors, sweetness
on the tongue.
I thought about this poem when I woke up this morning to a snow covered yard. Unfortunately I didn't have any blue grapes in the house so I had to settle for a cup of tea in a blue mug to compliment the view out my window. Still, it was an opportunity to simply be in the moment, to feel the heat seeping through the pottery as my hand curved around the cup, to watch how the snowflakes looked as if they were being sifted from the heavens. Who can complain about snow in spring when it offers such gifts?
