Snow Mountain

There it was, a mountain of snow and two ways to look at it,
with a kind of weary glance, a testament to
all that shoveling and streets still snow-mucked and
tricky to navigate

or it was magnificent hill to be climbed and conquered,
the perfect sliding spot for a round plastic sled,
a tall snowy pile of adventure, plain and simple.

All around yesterday, in the morning and again in the evening,
the streets rang out with laughter and shouting.
Kids outside making elaborate tunnels and forts,
digging, stomping and, later, splashing in the deep
puddles left by melting snow.

A small dog, not quite five pounds, burrowed into deep
footprints, took a ride down a tiny hill on the back of a
sled and cavorted in and out of the drifts.

Two decidedly different ways of looking at that
same very tall tower of snow. And yesterday,
as is often the case, the kids
and the little dog knew best.

                   ~          ~          ~
It reminded me of  a couple of poems I've enjoyed trying to
puzzle out, each speaking to the idea of perspective:
Wallace Stevens'  "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird"  
and "The Snowman." 

Having lived and worked in Connecticut, Stevens likely had
his share of snow to both shovel out and marvel over.

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15746

http://www.writing.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88/stevens-snowman.html