It feels like an awful storm,

bearing down, Mother Earth

sending us a last message

for the season.

The storm began this morning,

it will rage through the night,

wind, ice, sleet, raging winds,

heavy snow, at the hardware store they say

16 inches,

at the food co-op they say eight to ten,

at the Post Office, they shrug,

as if to say “we are not allowed to say.”

What have you heard?, I am asked all day.

What have you heard?,” I ask all day.

The tub is filled with water, the candles

placed on tables,

a bag of cheese puffs by the sink,

my Kindle is charged, if the power goes out again

tonight, like the farmer has promised, we will

pull the mattress downstairs and sleep on the floor,

by the wood stove.

We have each other, I think, the storm is nothing.