Sunday January 8th, 2017

The exercise:

Write about: the blizzard.

We got a serious dumping of snow this afternoon and evening. It's impressive how quickly it can pile up once it really gets going.

Planning on a family trip to Penticton tomorrow morning, but that could change depending on the road conditions. Pretty sure they'll have the major routes cleaned up by then - it'll just be a matter of getting from our house to the nearest major route.


I sit inside,
Comfortably close
To the fireplace,
And look out to
The unending sea
Of frigid white space.

And I think to
Myself, ever so slowly,
That I will not go
Outside. For all of
The money in the world?
Yes - who would offer though?

No one.


morganna said...

I try to deal with it
A load here, a load there
Sorting this, sorting that
But the laundry is just plain coming too fast
It's a blizzard!

Greg said...

@Morganna: Currently I only have to do laundry at the weekends, and then usually just a whites wash and a darks wash so I think I'm spared the domestic bliss you so tidily describe today :) But I suspect Marc knows all about it....

@Marc: I guess you've already dug the car out of the snow then if you're planning a trip to Penticton? Good luck on the roads being clear enough: I remember the rather lovely snow in Moncton and that the main roads were cleared quickly; the side roads more slowly.
I find the poetical style you've chosen really fascinating with the rhyme scheme separated by the three lines each time, and the coda at the end. I think it works, and I really like it. Though I think you're complaining about the cold far too much... you don't appreciate what you have :-P

The blizzard
Nanna was asleep when Jordan and I ventured out into the garden. I wrapped up as warmly as I could: thermal vest under t-shirt under shirt under two jumpers, a parka jacket, a scarf, balaclava... it took me nearly ten minutes just to get dressed for ourside. Jordan slipped a pair of gloves on and a ski-jacket bought back when skiing was fun and ignored my sigh and my tsking.
When we opened the back door a dusting of snow fell down from the roof and we both stepped backwards, waiting to see if we'd triggered an avalanche or not. I was praying we hadn't: digging ourselves out was no fun and we had to do it at least three times every autumn. In winter we waited till the snow was up to the upstairs windows and then we dug a tunnel through it from the door to the street: it was easier and we didn't have to keep doing it. The snow stayed on the roof, and we went outside.
A cloud of frost butterflies exploded from the long-dead branches of a bush as we got closer, their delicate, near-transparent wings rattling like icicles in a storm, and they swooped and dove around our heads. They didn't touch us, though Jordan was stupid enough to reach his hand out and try and grab one. Frost covered his glove just from being close to them, and I pulled his hand down and him backwards: they were dangerous insects to be around.
"There's so many of them," I said, wonderingly. They continued to spiral upwards, hunting for a new place to rest. "So pretty."
"They're called a blizzard," said Jordan. "A blizzard of butterflies. It's the collective noun for them."
"That's nice," I said, still watching them. They started to settle in the branches of a tree. "Blizzards in Florida -- would you have imagined that when we were kids?"

Marc said...

Morganna - I know that feeling all too well :) Nicely described!

Greg - lots of snow is fine, as long as the roads have been cleared :)

Ah, a lovely continuation from the frost butterflies in a previous prompt response. Much appreciated, and much enjoyed.