Boxing Day

[2011 snow]

The Storm/ Now through the white orchard my little dog / romps, breaking the new snow/ with wild feet./ Running here running there, excited,/ hardly able to stop, he leaps, he spins/ until the white snow is written upon/ in large, exuberant letters,/ a long sentence, expressing/ the pleasures of the body in this world./ Oh, I could not have said it better/ myself. -Mary Oliver