“Enough Already” the newspaper said;
the storm was the talk of the town.
The snow was clogging the side streets
and still was coming down.
But the wind slashed in and carved the snow
and sculpted with her hand.
And every swirl around house and tree
conspired a crystal land.
And after it stopped and the sun came out
the people came gazing too.
And the drifts were diamonds and sapphires:
smooth startling white and blue.
It was easy to see the wonder
and forget the problems it brought;
although it can strangle us, freeze us to lumps,
it’s winter, it’s northern: that’s hot.