Shannon Costello

Between Storms

I walked Thunder Hill Road,

surrounded by forbidding white walls of snow,

watched by an ominous sky,

hoping to see people,

and I heard birds twittering-

one last song before hunkering down,

to hide where ever birds hide during winter storms.

Blizzard Starting

Where can we put another 18 inches of snow?

On top of the snow banks, higher than my head?

I named the pass between those mountains of snow

Meeks Pass, after a long, hard pass in Wyoming,

where we trudged past pink-tinged snow and gray rocks.

I shoveled the first few inches late last night.

I saw no one,

heard no shovels, no snowblowers.

Just myself in the swirling snow.

I climbed up to Meeks Pass

and threw snowballs at a tree.

They left a satisfying white burst

against the darkness of the quiet trunk.