March is so fickle and uncommitted. I wrote this a couple of years ago and it most certainly applies to our midwestern week.
Sifting snow in the
Blizzard wind in the
Cold wind blowing
Blizzard singing in the
We shoveled snow all day and I wondered how we will do it when we’re eighty.
Eighty is not old unless you’re shoveling snow. Last night I went for a walk in the
blizzard over to the river. All I could hear was the wind until I came to the pine trees.
They made a beautiful musical tone. I’d never heard it before. The snow was “sifting”
off of the rooftops. It was very beautiful. I’m glad I walked.