Tuesday, February 17, 2026

Poem: January 21, 2026

Forecast

Just suggest the possibility

of snow on the horizon,

and I become truly useless.


The storm’s three days away

and on a weekend, but I am

already (mentally and


emotionally) in my PJs,

drinking cocoa, wrapped

in cats and reading books


with no intention of moving

forward or checking anything

off of my to do list.


I like the hush of snow.

I like the stuck of snow.

I like the no of snow.


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