[Editor's note: This one is a couple of weeks old, but the "everywhere but Nashville" line still holds true.]
This week’s snow and ice (everywhere but Nashville) has made me think of a favorite poem by one of my favorite poets–”Boy at the Window,” by Richard Wilbur.
“Boy at the Window”
Seeing the snowman standing all alone
In dusk and cold is more than he can bear.
The small boy weeps to hear the wind prepare
A night of gnashings and enormous moan.
His tearful sight can hardly reach to where
The pale-faced figure with bitumen eyes
Returns him such a God-forsaken stare
As outcast Adam gave to paradise.
The man of snow is, nonetheless, content,
Having no wish to go inside and die.
Still, he is moved to see the youngster cry.
Though frozen water is his element,
He melts enough to drop from one soft eye
A trickle of the purest rain, a tear
For the child at the bright pane surrounded by
Such warmth, such light, such love, and so much fear.
Bonus media: My daughter, a devotee of the movie Frozen, introduced me to this different take on what it means to be a snowman: