Snow

Not sure I feel quite the same as Anne Sexton, though it does look kind of pretty ... that is, until the recycling needs to go out and your boots fill up with the stuff while you're trying to clear a space for all that evidence of over-consumption.

Anne Sexton—The Awful Rowing Toward God. © Houghton Mifflin, 1975.

Snow,
blessed snow,
comes out of the sky
like bleached flies.
The ground is no longer naked.
The ground has on its clothes.
The trees poke out of sheets
and each branch wears the sock of God.

There is hope.
There is hope everywhere.
I bite it.
Someone once said:
Don't bite till you know
if it's bread or stone.
What I bite is all bread,
rising, yeasty as a cloud.

There is hope.
There is hope everywhere.
Today God gives milk
and I have the pail.