I literally gasped. I’d gone out to take fresh stuff to the compost bin. Headed back into the garage to pull flannel sheets out of the dryer, and a big pot of winter squash soup on the stove, plans of making Croque Monsieurs for dinner with our friends tonight to knock off a bit of the edge of raw cold, I was preoccupied.

Then too, the second blizzard is still roaring over the northeast. Yesterday, the weather forecaster said there is a small chance of ‘wintery precipitation’ around here–first time I’ve heard that since we’ve been here. Tomorrow’s high will be around 41 if the forecast is right.  And these are so very small–about the size of a casino chip, each of them–and easy to overlook. But still.  There they were, waiting to be seen. As I stared, all I could think of was this:

In Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame baloonman

whistles far and wee

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it’s
spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer
old baloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it’s
spring
and
the

goat-footed

baloonMan whistles
far
and
wee

ee cummings