Last weekend we felt the brunt of the first major snowstorm of the season. It was like being inside a snow globe, a fire in the hearth, soup on the stove, and a new snow blower in the garage. The world was silent, muffled by the blowing snow, and all was well until it was time to take the dogs for their afternoon walk. They preferred to get back inside as quickly as possible.
In a small room at the local hospital, on the Hospice floor, a different kind of silence filled the space. It was the quiet of farewell, the long vigil, the leave-taking that seemed to go on so very long. Outside the window the great snowstorm swirled, wrapping the city in its colorless cape. A few red taillights brighten the dusky, snow-filled streets, late travelers heading home.
Hospice, Snowstorm
Where is she,
the one who waits for the kind angel
to carry her away?
She lies in a strange bed,
tended by those who have loved her
on sweeter days.
They lean over, touching her gently,
bending to offer a parting kiss,
whispering prayers and promises
with a frail hope that she may hear.
Outside the window a great snow falls,
silencing the city below.
The red lights of cars decorate streets
that are filling with white,
all going home to a warm place,
where love waits.
Perhaps in the wildness of snow
we seek passage, too,
with her,
amid this cold and darkness
where we are all lifted on bright winter wings
to home, to safety, to spring.
--Timothy Haut
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