Whiteout

       by Laurie Lee Didesch

The day is like a mourning dove—gray and somber. The northern sky 
stretches endlessly like a convoy, and yet, the birdsong is boisterous 
this morning, as if the crocuses were in bloom. Instead, bands of snow 
close ranks. They form a wall—I walk through it like a ghost. So too
the spirit travels unfettered in this world. The flakes on my lashes add 
flair to my ski tag and parka. The lively warbler continues her refrain.

The sun peeks above the clouds to marvel at the sound before returning 
to beaches where the bathers sigh in relief. They rub on oil and wade 
in the water. Here, the performer insists on a spring that is yet months 
away. Suddenly, the bird offs into the whiteness. A glow like a lantern 
bobs up ahead—is it a porch light or a street light or a bird in flight? 
Who can tell on such a day? My own heart rustles like a pair of wings.