TITLE: Witness to the New Snow (re-submitted 12/16/05)
By Diane L. Harris
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to the new snow,
thirty minutes after midnight,
my eleventh Christmas morning.
The flakes swirled like a box of Mortonís
while Mom and I sang Hallelujah
at my first midnight mass.
She drove so slowly, wipers panicked.
Then her soft moan Ė
The weight of snow drifts stopped our Rambler
on the way home,
so Mom dispatched me hastily
to get my fatherís help.
Afraid to walk alone past midnight
in the dark street -
familiar though it was -
just two quick blocks from home;
I first hop-walked in slowed-down motion,
as my heart raced.
The snow filled up my boots.
My legs stood still for sudden wonder:
the storm had stopped.
I found myself the only witness
to the new snow --
Godís glorious moonlit gift --
on Christmas morning.
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