Snow, Blessed Snow

A sketch from the studio window, and a poem I post in thanks for this brief interlude of beauty and silence.


blessed snow,
comes out of the sky
like bleached flies.
The ground is no longer naked.
The ground has on its clothes.
The trees poke out of sheets
and each branch wears the sock of God.

There is hope.
There is hope everywhere.
I bite it.
Someone once said:
Don’t bite till you know
if it’s bread or stone.
What I bite is all bread,
rising, yeasty as a cloud.

There is hope.
There is hope everywhere.
Today God gives milk
and I have the pail.

—Anne Sexton



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2 Responses to “Snow, Blessed Snow”

  1. Cathy Quinn says:

    Both are lovely Sheila! Hope to see you soon. Cathy

  2. Sheila says:

    I hope to see you too, Cathy, when we are all dug out!

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