“Snow!” he shouted
tossing clouds of
thin, white sand at the beach
making snowmen
out of sand
with their heads
lying down
and their arms are wet planks
and their toes knotted kelp
and they never melt
until the sun explodes.
"…something like the supervisor of an entire team of political agents…"
“Snow!” he shouted
tossing clouds of
thin, white sand at the beach
making snowmen
out of sand
with their heads
lying down
and their arms are wet planks
and their toes knotted kelp
and they never melt
until the sun explodes.
first sense of snow very powerful, my south east asian friends tell me. a cold yet uplifting baptism under the spotted white sky.
“Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow
Which thy frozen bosom bears,
On whose tops the pinks that grow
Are of those that April wears!
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee.”
—John Fletcher (1579–1625), The Bloody Brother. Act v. Sc. 2.
“The splendor of Silence,—of snow-jeweled hills and of ice.”
—Ingram Crockett (1856– ?), Orion.