I Weep to Think They Would Lay Us in the Cold Ground
The snow falls wet and cumbersome, its weight bending branches. We bang shovel blades against the boughs, and flurries cascade onto our heads. A small girl pulls a sled to the almost-hill behind our house, stops to braid a coronet from sprigs of juniper and remnants of autumn weeds. She parades across the yard, clambering over roots and other white-wrapped wonders.… Read the rest