- Woman, two teens arrested following narcotics investigation
- Former county officials charged with theft
- New Zion Baptist participates in National Back to Church Sunday Sept. 21
- Donors celebrate new school health center
- Debris cleanup underway near Fordham Dam
- Some good, some bad in Obama executive order on protecting antibiotics
- Two arrested on cannabis charges after search of detached garage on North Henrietta
- Man guilty of drug charges faces 60 years in prison
- Rockford BBB aware of ‘Microsoft’ phone scam
- Judge: Chad Grimm will remain on Illinois governor ballot
Literary Hook: The beauty of snow
By Christine Swanberg
Author and Poet
Midwesterners are especially hardy souls. We can find the beauty of winter even in the midst of a major snowstorm, can’t we? Here’s a poem celebrating snow in the city.
Listen to the Snow
The summer sedum slump, bedraggled by a bedlam of new snow,
snow so thick it bends the large lilacs and topples prairie grass.
At last, the city is perfectly quiet, its recent crime wave on hold,
snow a better antidote to violence than all the men with guns.
A blizzard brings out the best in neighbors. This minute Anthony,
snow still falling gently on his blue parka, shovels the driveway
of our oldest resident, here on our quaint street where maples hold snow on their bare limbs. Everything is closed. We settle in,
reconfiguring our day to meet the snow’s agenda. Today
snow is the Boss of Everything: school, traffic, appointments,
meetings, choirs, trysts, operations, helicopters, vacations obey
snow’s sweet command: Stop everything you are doing. Be still.
Adjust your entire day, so says the snow. Finish that book,
snow says. Be kind to your neighbors and pets. Fill the bird feeder.
Clear your desk. Call your mother. Write this poem. Learn to wait,
snow says. Listen to the glorious complete quiet of this day.
Tomorrow, when the city has done its best to rid the pestilence of
snow, when we’ve had enough of snowmen and hot chocolate,
tomorrow, when things get back to normal, whatever that may be,
snow’s sweet quiet will linger for a moment, then melt into
the day’s business as usual. But in your bones you know
snow transforms like a powerful meditation, a great reminder
that there’s something to be said for that slow silence
snow bestows on anyone who cares to listen to the snow.
Christine Swanberg is a local author and poet.
From the Jan. 5-11, 2011