By Wallace Stevens
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
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For better or worse, the alarmist weather forecast of the past couple of days was right this time. We had about six inches of snow on the ground when we woke up and have nearly a foot now, plus the storm warning has been extended till 5 a.m. since we could get another couple of inches overnight. So we had a very quiet Sunday when not shoveling, brushing, or walking in snow. The Saints-Eagles playoff game ended the way I wanted and the Patriots-Chargers proved that reports of Brady's demise have been premature. We watched the return of Victoria (not rooting much for Albert) and this week's Madam Secretary (same goes for the defense contractors) plus an episode of Tidelands (not even sure who I'm rooting for but I don't think it's Adrielle). This is how the day looked:
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