As the Polar Vortex blew through the northern US and Canada, it did lots of ugly things. Furnaces struggled, unable to keep pace with the chill. Car batteries gave up the ghost. Intrepid outdoorsmen got frost-bite and ass bruises. But it also delivered the season’s fluffiest snow, air-brushing it into nooks and crannies in impressive drifts, swirls, and arcs. One screen on our bay window, raised in autumn and forgotten, was hovering at half-mast when the storm hit.
The poem is a VERS BEAUCOUP; click on link for the rules of the form.
POLAR VORTEX SAND ART
By Winter’s hand, sparkling bands of flurries land
in a grand curve between the window and screen,
surreal scene, framed but fleeting, fast-retreating
snow tears greeting the low-slung rays of midday
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