I’ve long been impressed that the Inuit are said to have 20 or more words for it, and we but one. So fresh, so promising, so lovely—at first. So quickly crusted over, old and grimy, adorned with dog shit—like any cliché.
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: Flag of Greenland, designed by Thue Christiansen)