Of other snows, other continents

A plastic bag hovers behind a garbage truck passing by. A futile attempt that is doomed to end in defeat by the roadside. The snow of yesterday garnishes the sidewalk and the hills beyond. The orange tabby springs from nowhere leaving scars on the pavement. The only birds signing are the crows on the prowl.

Photographs in folders dated and numbered wait to be opened. A year in the life gone by must be browsed through again. In the meantime disheveled thoughts scatter ideas, half-baked and ill-formed. The smoke cloud from the neighbour’s backyard hangs above the conifers undecidedly then moves to the skyscrapers. The person on the 34th floor looks out of the window and watches a fluffy white rabbit scamper by.

The church bells are muffled as it starts to snow again. The sea gull catches a snowflake and takes it past the sugar maples, leafless and forlorn. The cows on the windowsill watch the “herb garden in a pot” in astonishment. The fragrance of spearmint mixes with oregano mocking the whiteness outside. The blue tit carved in wood is pensive contemplating other snows, in other continents. And perhaps will say,
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. *

And that brings the mind back to the year gone by. Perhaps one would call it the worst year yet. Or perhaps one would say it was an experiment that went wrong. At least now it is known that this will
not work. But really it wasn’t a disaster?

*One Art by Elizabeth Bishop