Snow, so, no, now. Sow, too, but forget the pig…
‘So’ is ‘sew’ yet snow ‘sows’ more than ‘sews’ the mind; at least so I prefer to think. At least while it’s snowing.
Those 13 blackbirds… I wrote a poem once called Twenty Ways To Say Snow. I was marooned in a motel in Grundy Center, Iowa, right after Christmas. The fields outside were fresh with snow. I walked in them and got bored watching bowl games on TV. And so the poem. I don’t think I thought of Stevens at all. Perhaps it would have been better if I had. I might have ‘wons’ something with my lines.
Snow – from Old English snaw, German schnee.
(Image: photo by Kalle Kortelainen)