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Contents Page: Oct 1, 2011, vol 7 no 3

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Adelaide B. Shaw

Snow Day

The radio announcer declares at 7:00 a.m. that all schools are closed. There is no movement except for the snow. Gray light and falling snow obscure the neighborhood. Our street is seen as if in a shifting dream. There are no factories across from us, no chain link fences, no broken concrete and blacktop, no parked cars. Only snow. Mounds of snow. A bale of cotton wadding of snow. A whipped cream cake of snow. A giant marshmallow of snow.

a ragged path–
the scrape of my shovel
sharply clear

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