It looks like we won't be getting much, if any, snow this weekend, however, I'm sure many of us will dream of it. Here's a poem by Richard Wilbur that is perfect for both winter weather and dreams:
The horse beneath me seemed
To know what course to steer
Through the horror of snow I dreamed,
And so I had no fear,
Nor was I chilled to death
By the wind’s white shudders, thanks
To the veils of his patient breath
And the mist of sweat from his flanks.
It seemed that all night through,
Within my hand no rein
And nothing in my view
But the pillar of his mane,
I rode with magic ease
At a quick, unstumbling trot
Through shattering vacancies
On into what was not,
Till the weave of the storm grew thin,
With a threading of cedar-smoke,
And the ice-blind pane of an inn
Shimmered, and I awoke.
How shall I now get back
To the inn-yard where he stands,
Burdened with every lack,
And waken the stable-hands
To give him, before I think
That there was no horse at all,
Some hay, some water to drink,
A blanket and a stall?
Found in Poems About Horses, edited by Carmela Ciuraru [808.819 POE].
Horses, and Mr. Wilbur, the poet of this particular poem, put me in mind of:
Tara will be hosting the Poetry Friday Round-Up today at A Teaching Life. Do stop by!