Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.

The Waste Land is not an easy poem to teach, but I’ve always liked teaching it anyway. There’s so much to contend with, even in that overly familiar opening stanza.

I love that phrase–“forgetful snow.” We got 12 inches yesterday, and the white curtain seemed to purify the ugliness of the world. As the snow fell, my Twitter feed was churning with news of bombs and cruelty. Acts of terror, the papers said.

The snow kept coming down, and a raptor found a perch in our aspens. I’m thinking he was a juvenile merlin, but I frankly don’t know. He swooped in and carried off one of our finches, dismembering it with gory flair. I wanted to look away, but I kept watching. It was right there in front of me.

Our puppy Dulcinea didn’t know the world was full of danger, and she didn’t know an episode of Animal Kingdom was taking place in our back yard. She only knew that the snow was deep and cold, that her heart was filled with joy.

Ears flying, she ran and ran.