The snows have been arriving in waves, long rolling breakers of foam, blurring the line between earth and sky. White beasts lumber across the garden where a row of bushes had been. Trees sway and tinkle under their weight of crystal chandeliers. The forecast calls for high winds that will bring down branches and knock out power. But there’s something exhilarating about being snowbound — stranded in uncharted territory that’s both beautiful and terrifying. Waking up the other morning to a landscape magically transformed, I thought of this poem by the prolific and versatile American poet William Jay Smith whom I was privileged to meet in his later years.
Winter Morning
by William Jay Smith
All night the wind swept over the house
And through our dream
Swirling the snow up through the pines,
Ruffling the white, ice-capped clapboards,
Rattling the windows,
Rustling around and below our bed
So that we rode
Over wild water
In a white ship breasting the waves.
We rode through the night
On green, marbled
Water, and, half-waking, watched
The white, eroded peaks of icebergs
Sail past our windows;
Rode out the night in that north country,
And awoke, the house buried in snow,
Perched on a
Chill promontory, a
Giant’s tooth
In the mouth of the cold valley,
Its white tongue looped frozen around us,
The trunks of tall birches
Revealing the rib cage of a whale
Stranded by a still stream;
And saw, through the motionless baleen of their branches,
As if through time,
Light that shone
On a landscape of ivory,
A harbor of bone.
Lovely!!