Saturday walk

Snow falls (finally) over the pond and the trees and the houses beyond the dirty city river. It falls in soft kisses, painting a new grace over February landscapes, turning dried grasses around the pond to an oil paint swatch of burnt umber. "It isn't much," my brother said of that pond, visiting me from the realm of spacious country and not very impressed with this contrived patch of drainage pool wilderness. I thought the same, when I visited my sister who lived here first. And now I, also, find  solace in city park peace. Maybe, since it's all I have, I've begun to see a hidden beauty. Watching the snow fall, I try to relax my shoulders and torso. I am perplexed, just now, and particularly in need of better employment; yet I realize the snow is a gift--a free gift. I could have nothing in the world, and the snow fall would be just as rich for me as anyone else. I'd started out meaning to exercise, to burn calories, but I find myself only ambling now--of course only ambling in the quiet snow and scarcely marked path: forgiven, and for this moment, rich.