We have a blizzard in the East.
Whenever nature explodes in an aberrational fury, we quickly reestablish awe for her power and acknowledge our respect, not only for her seemingly indiscriminate manifestation of the elements, but for a force we cannot understand or appreciate.
In her harshness, there is beauty.
Eastern village in winters grasp
Delighting all who choose to know
What pleasure comes from steady cold
And sifted, blizzard driven snow.
Drifted diamond dunes of white
Cover street and tree and trail
With crystal sparks from nature's heart,
A blanket ode to season frail.
Long shadows cast by breaking dawn
Create the grays upon the bright
From standing buildings tall and straight
Peeking, poking through the white.
Cold, early hurried people trudge,
With crunchy steps on blowing way,
Their rhythmic puffs of huffing breath
Will vanish with the warmth - someday.
In all things, we can find beauty, if we look for it. The looking, however, must not diminish our compassion for those who cannot see it until their weather becomes a gentle climate.