Snow

Snow is everywhere. There is a beautiful pattern of white ice blobs on the screen. Behind that are huge hanging icicles. Beyond that, white lined tree limbs. It is possible to move back and forth between concerns about neighbors, food, electricity, email, and general anxiety and fear about this storm's effects - and the artist part of my vision that sees pattern, feels the ethereal quality of so much lacy whiteness, hears the whistle of the wind as a mysterious tone. I don't want to look down at the street. But I do. There is a man walking. And I hear voices of children. I am thankful to be able to see in so many ways.