There Was Snow. White Snow.

I used to love poetry. Back when it was simple, before it had to be explicated. Before I was asked to have deep and intellectual discussions about the meaning behind some stanza that was written by an author high on opium.

Shel Silverstein was one of my favorites. His poems don't have big words or complicated concepts, but they are still sophisticated, deep, and genuine. More so than some of the "classics" out there, in my humble opinion. Each of his poems speak to you; amidst the simplicity, there is a powerful comfort.

In light of the record and heart-breaking snowstorm, I turned to Shel to pull me through. I came across one poem that reminded me of my childhood wish to live in "a place where it snowed and where I could have snow days." To be told by your parents, by your teachers, not to come to school, to take a personal day and build a snowman -- what could possibly be better than that?

This morning as I was walking outside (read: being pelted in the face by snow), I saw two little boys playing tag in the snow, which practically came up to their hips. They were doing that cute little-kid laugh. But with each step, with each sinking step into snow, I couldn't help but think about the implications of the snow day. How to rework my schedule, how to come through with my responsibilities, despite the weather. To me, this snow doesn't mean days off. It means extra work. It means cancelled flights. It means utter and complete frustration and disappointment.

And as I sit here consoling myself with some leftover Chinese food, I can't help but feel sad. Sad that it is the weather, not childish neglect, that keeps me from completing everything on my schedule. Shocked that I am at a point in my life where when I am given a break, I can't afford to take it, and worse, don't want to take it. Frustrated with myself that I cannot appreciate the beauty of the soft, purifying blanket that has been spread over the entire city. Embarrassed that all I want is for it to be cleared up, for all signs of this blizzard to be erased, so that I can continue with my regularly programmed activities.

Wishing I could be free-spiritedly making snow angels without a worry in the world, I leave you with some Shel:

Snowball

Shel Silverstein

I made myself a snow ball as perfect as could be.

I thought I'd keep it as a pet and let it sleep with me.

I made it some pajamas and a pillow for its head.

Then, last night it ran away.

But first -- it wet the bed."