The Silence Of Snow

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DSC01864I just returned from a writing retreat with four wonderful women. It was a week of hard writing, sharing, nurturing, and laughter. I’ll write more about it next week. But for now, with a good portion of our country sleeping beneath a heavy blanket of snow, I leave you with the following poem.

The Silence of Snow

I shift beneath blankets
warm from nightly wandering
the only sound my thoughts
percolating through misty dreams
unspoken words muffled by snow
pillowed on pines  plump sculptures
thick as feather beds conceal
the garden that yesterday lay
barren and scarred

No birds call  leaden geese in silhouette
glide the river thickening with winter chill
I slip back into dreams  a mummy wrapped
in sheets of white  the slow dance
of cranes in a sea of frozen fog
drift in and out numbing my bones
awake once more I wonder if death
is as still and pure as
the silent snow


What questions do snow and silence raise for you?


  1. Joan, though it was a shock to transition back into snow country, I must admit, winter and the snow covered landscape do give one permission to “nest”. Thank you for your lovely poem. “Plump sculptures thick as feather beds” describes the scene on our backyard deck perfectly.

    • Kathy, I remember going home to Vermont after long winter breaks in the south years ago. It was always a shock, but also a warm and snuggly place to return to. I’m glad you like my poem. It does speak of the winter landscape.

      I’m glad you’re back home and “nesting.”

  2. Beautiful poem … no questions raised. Just enjoying the being 🙂

  3. There is not one itty-bitty patch of snow in Jacksonville, but the images fit my mood today. I like that one anagram for “silence” is “listen.” Each day I want to listen to the sound of thoughts “percolating through misty dreams” and forming words. Preferably wise ones!

    Your photo is perfect, combining snow and an atmosphere of silence. I look forward to reading your take on our Chincoteague experience next week. Mine will be expressed mostly in photos. I took a look of ’em, you know. 😉

  4. Joan — This is precisely and exactly what I needed before retiring this evening. Thank you!

  5. I see a room in a log cabin, a bed with warm white sheets and brown coverlet.

    And I see egrets in the marsh.

    And I see my friend Joan’s words, beautiful in their precision, unafraid to go deep.