I am learning from a six-year-old
the finer points of snow.
We trudge, booted, crunching through
a top layer of sleet-glazed crust
that sandwiches powder-dry snow between it
and an icy sheet below.
Its terrible for snowballs and snowmen,
but great for forts, especially after I scrape
and chop those icy strata off the walk and drive.
My young companion gleefully collects jagged blocks
and stacks them in a semi-circle, around
a cleared-out hollow in a bank by a tree.
We hurl frozen ammunition at each other
I deliberately hit the walls and dramatically grumble
about his sturdy fortification. He giggles with pride.
After the obligatory snow angels, he runs inside,
a powdered-sugar donut with legs.

Next day, we attempt snowmen again
the warming sun has transformed our medium
to more malleable material.
Up goes the statue, in the classic style
three rolled spheres with stone eyes, carrot nose,
stick arms, and found headgear
but we cant stop there.
At the young fellows insistence, we construct
an entire family Mom, Dad, son, and snow-dog.
They stand regally, greeting passing cars on our street.

These two afternoons have made me appreciate
the nuances of snow why the Eskimos have
so many words for it. There are almost as many
forms of the stuff as one can name.
And taking these raw materials for a fort,
an igloo, anthropomorphic sculpture,
or whatever human fancy can design,
still holds a certain joy of craft
that no number of traffic reports,
school closings, or Doppler-radar weather maps
could ever teach me to understand.

01/22/2002

Posted on 01/22/2002
Copyright © 2026 Bruce W Niedt