War and Peace in Winter

The city and I are in dispute about where to put the snow; a dispute we contend without words. God and I spread the snow equitably--enough for everybody, enough for both the street and our driveway. The city, less concerned for our driveways than for the street, tumble furrows of snow, like the wake of city street boats, onto our lawns. I blow it back, always into the wind, and the wind sides with the city. I wear a stocking cap and a frozen smile.

On sunny days in winter, I explore electronic flower seed catalogs, imagining a stream of color down through our back yard, there where neither the city nor I disturb the snow where it lies, before it runs to the river, and New Orleans. You will understand.

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