[qimaugruk: Inuit for snowdrift blocking trail or a building]

Soon after daybreak
we heard the good news
on the radio:
all the roads were blocked;
school was cancelled.

One glance out the window
confirmed the situation:
snow was blowing
ripping the surface of roofs,
buildings, yards, the very street itself
into vague white smears
eventually sculpting driven snow
into massive sleek curving
abstracts of the land beneath.

Next door, snow topped
the roof of the house
in a giant vertical wave
worthy of the surf at Oahu.

When we finally tried to
get out for some groceries
our door was blocked by
qimaugruk over the top;
we had to climb out
a window on the far side
and ski to the store.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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