How to Look at Snow
Copyright 2002 Stan Lyness
A miniature ice age, ages ago,
and Flemish painters looked at snow
through fresh and wondering eyes
as blank canvas,
a backdrop for activity,
oxcarts rolling this way,
skaters sliding that,
and so my childhood eyes saw snow:
You could live out there.
Another cold snap, centuries on,
now Fauvists saw snow anew,
much as my adult eyes do:
a menace, a wolf in sheep's soft wool,
whose fangs beneath the surface
jab at any touch:
You could die out there.
But since we choose our teachers,
I'll learn to look at snow
from carving artists,
those Japanese woodcut masters,
whose snow
weights temple gates,
bends pine boughs,
dusts umbrellas,
scatters twilight,
so gentle yet
not to be resisted,
its soft hush
muffling madness
halting hurry
permitting
only
peace.
You could just die out there.
