Sunday, January 25, 2015
There is a strange calmness in the air as we go about the routines of life here on Long Island. The sun shines brightly and the temperature seems too mild for the unexpected. I look around and think that it appears to be too peaceful for extreme weather predictions to hover over Long Island. Newscaster announcements keep on airing. Shoppers scurry to the grocery store. My husband brings home news of customers in large groups searching shelves for milk and bread and meteorologists continue their coverage of what is purported to be a historic storm.
Verbs like slam and brace are thrown out as actions to be expected. Will the Northeast be crippled by the Blizzard of 2015? All I can do is wait to see if life will be halted by raging winds of 50 miles per hour and snow drifts of 24-36 inches in height. If so, then the regional professional development event that I am to facilitate will be postponed. Everything is uncertain. This speaks to the fact that life is fragile and changeable.
Monday Morning, January 26, 2015
I wake to a coldness in the house. TV newsmen seem to be avidly tracking a storm that could stop the usual flow of life on Long Island. Their smiles make me believe that storm tracking is an engaging and invigorating sport. As the snow starts its descent, I turn my gaze out from my master bathroom window to start a conversation with the snow.
At first, you blow in
from other parts
Your pace becomes
a hurried pattern
as you zip here and there.
At times your flakes collide
and bounce back.
Other times, you move
horizontally in front of me.
What message do you bring me?
Monday Afternoon, January 26, 2015
An expected email is sent out: regional professional development meeting with keynote speakers from outside Long Island is canceled due to the impending storm to be rescheduled.
Your force and speed
are building power
on weather charts.
Are you getting ready to blast?
Monday Evening, January 26, 2015
Your name,
Blizzard of 2015,
is mentioned
in every corner of life.
While others negate
your presence,
I notice your patterns,
listen to your sounds,
and pause to wonder
how soon your flakes
will turn into a historic
blanket of white.
Are you whispering to me
in the night?
Tuesday Morning, January 27, 2015
School closings across Long Island are the news of the morning along with the temperatures and footage of snow.
Today's early watch
reflects no visible life.
Winds sway branches.
Your flight hurries
tying to dodge
each others' path.
A red speck
comes into focus,
perches on a branch
greeting your frosted tips.
Undaunted by your
coldness it sits
calling another.
Both stilled
by the silence
wait, observe, listen.
What are you saying
that they are transfixed?
The song, Hazy Shade of Winter, allows for a bit of positivity this morning. It reminds us to hang on to our hopes and look for possibilities when viewing the "hazy shade of winter" sky.
Perhaps, today is the day for those in the northeast and other parts of the country to sit quietly, listen to the sounds of winter while shoveling the fresh snow, and "hunker down" with a pen in hand to write what winter is whispering. If interested in letting your voice fly for a global gallery of artistic expressions, Winter Whisperings Gallery, read here or here.
I hope that my Slice of Life chronicling the Blizzard of 2015 gives you some insight into my noticings and wonderings during the storm. Please visit Two Writing Teachers where you will find other bloggers perspectives on their Slice of Life.
There is a strange calmness in the air as we go about the routines of life here on Long Island. The sun shines brightly and the temperature seems too mild for the unexpected. I look around and think that it appears to be too peaceful for extreme weather predictions to hover over Long Island. Newscaster announcements keep on airing. Shoppers scurry to the grocery store. My husband brings home news of customers in large groups searching shelves for milk and bread and meteorologists continue their coverage of what is purported to be a historic storm.
Verbs like slam and brace are thrown out as actions to be expected. Will the Northeast be crippled by the Blizzard of 2015? All I can do is wait to see if life will be halted by raging winds of 50 miles per hour and snow drifts of 24-36 inches in height. If so, then the regional professional development event that I am to facilitate will be postponed. Everything is uncertain. This speaks to the fact that life is fragile and changeable.
Monday Morning, January 26, 2015
I wake to a coldness in the house. TV newsmen seem to be avidly tracking a storm that could stop the usual flow of life on Long Island. Their smiles make me believe that storm tracking is an engaging and invigorating sport. As the snow starts its descent, I turn my gaze out from my master bathroom window to start a conversation with the snow.
from other parts
with a gentle spirit
cautiously announcing
your first fallen flakes.
Your pace becomes
a hurried pattern
as you zip here and there.
At times your flakes collide
and bounce back.
Other times, you move
horizontally in front of me.
What message do you bring me?
What message do you bring me?
Monday Afternoon, January 26, 2015
An expected email is sent out: regional professional development meeting with keynote speakers from outside Long Island is canceled due to the impending storm to be rescheduled.
Your force and speed
are building power
on weather charts.
Nassau County-
closed for traffic.
County Executive,
Village Mayor,
and media
send cautionary tales
to residents.
Are you getting ready to blast?
Are you getting ready to blast?
Monday Evening, January 26, 2015
Your name,
Blizzard of 2015,
is mentioned
in every corner of life.
While others negate
your presence,
I notice your patterns,
listen to your sounds,
and pause to wonder
how soon your flakes
will turn into a historic
blanket of white.
Are you whispering to me
in the night?
in the night?
Tuesday Morning, January 27, 2015
School closings across Long Island are the news of the morning along with the temperatures and footage of snow.
Today's early watch
reflects no visible life.
Winds sway branches.
Your flight hurries
tying to dodge
each others' path.
A red speck
comes into focus,
perches on a branch
greeting your frosted tips.
Undaunted by your
coldness it sits
calling another.
Both stilled
by the silence
wait, observe, listen.
What are you saying
that they are transfixed?
What are you saying
that they are transfixed?
Perhaps, today is the day for those in the northeast and other parts of the country to sit quietly, listen to the sounds of winter while shoveling the fresh snow, and "hunker down" with a pen in hand to write what winter is whispering. If interested in letting your voice fly for a global gallery of artistic expressions, Winter Whisperings Gallery, read here or here.
I hope that my Slice of Life chronicling the Blizzard of 2015 gives you some insight into my noticings and wonderings during the storm. Please visit Two Writing Teachers where you will find other bloggers perspectives on their Slice of Life. 
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