![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The wind is rushing through the trees, sounding like a freight train. We've a foot or more of snow on the ground, and it just keeps falling. The power has blinked several times so I've run the heat up to an unprecedented 68°F so that in case we lose electricity the house may stay somewhat warm until it is restored. Nemo is, as predicted, a massive storm. Locals compare this to the "Blizzard of 1978:" I prefer to remember our 1968 blizzard instead as it sounded just like this one does!
In 1968 I had a poetry assignment where we had to assemble anthologies of favorite poets' works. Among my choices was Emerson's The Snow-Storm. It's a pretty piece, and it's where I first encountered the word maugre. I never use the word, but I remember Emerson's farmer on those rare occasions I see it in print. I wish I still had that folder I submitted: I drew a nice picture to go with the poem.
Maybe I can post some snow pics tomorrow, and catch up on reading friends' journals. That will be after we shovel out the anticipated 24" of snow.
In 1968 I had a poetry assignment where we had to assemble anthologies of favorite poets' works. Among my choices was Emerson's The Snow-Storm. It's a pretty piece, and it's where I first encountered the word maugre. I never use the word, but I remember Emerson's farmer on those rare occasions I see it in print. I wish I still had that folder I submitted: I drew a nice picture to go with the poem.
Maybe I can post some snow pics tomorrow, and catch up on reading friends' journals. That will be after we shovel out the anticipated 24" of snow.
