For the last week, we have been having a lovely snowfall–fine floury snow sifting down over everything, including half-built projects left from early fall. Walking out to feed Mattie, I bumped my toe into something I couldn’t see under the snow and realized that it was a fence pole that I had thought was stacked safely to the side of the path. I had changed the path in the snow, it turned out. With new snowfall every night, the tracks I make the day before become blurred white. With so much snow, the light reflects from everywhere at once, shifting my bearings and sense of perspective as I walk through it to give Mattie and Sam their hay.
So write about hidden things that emerge or about how what covers them over marks a shift of perspective. Write about the true things–like a fence pole–that disturb the fluffy surface of everyday.
Post your poem as a comment and I’ll add it to this post!
Mattie's Pillow 