I stare outside our window to see smooth white snow
gathering on the lawn, all life has stopped,
cars have stalled, too cold for people, animals – and
even birds cannot fly.
Frost accumulates on a window pane
I etch your name, once again I am a child drawing a
funny face – once again without a care – as if I were five
and soon would beg to dress to build a snowman or beg
for you to take the sled down from the hook in the garage.
At five I would slide across the ice, and bury myself in snow.
Life came to a stand still – no cars passed on the street,
they too are inside staring at snowflakes elunminating the
night – one on top of one. Each different in shape and size.
I listened to breaking news – thirty inches more – due.
I touched my stomach –
Now I suddenly knew, and prayed that it is not your time
to enter this world, as I kept rubbing my belly.
You were so perfect in my imagination, a child who
one day would draw pictures with a finger on frost.
Snow is falling faster – obscuring my vision,
and our yard disappeared.
Love it Nancy!
I know of a baby born during weather you describe. The front bumper of the car was pushing snow on the way to the hospital — fortunately, a short drive — and the baby, anxious to come into this world, caused the mother only about five minutes labor.
When slapped on the bottom, the stubborn tyke never cried. Instead, there was a cough and breathing began as if to say, “I know a war rages today but I am here in spite of it and of the hunger, the illnesses and all the fighting throughout the land. I am here and I will try to make your lives better.