![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCST4-MPFSzHfAcLsjujIjE5Zs2Avqfg-PydOf95J7WyhQSm7Vz3BGVjyOyjad9kSX3LVvvRTNtFN4cZshNdgIyLRDSiX6H7RWebAdk3rKeL8Uq47e9gfRXPZQ6z4RXvJCPvj9WWtt7e0/s320/watching_the_snow_falling_by_akinosora-d4m7o89.jpg)
The cat sits on the back of the sofa looking
out the window through the softly falling snow
at the last bit of gray light.
I can’t say the sun is going down.
We haven’t seen the sun for two months.
Who cares?
I am sitting in the blue chair listening to this stillness.
The only sound: the occasional gurgle of tea
coming out of the pot and into the cup.
How can this be?
Such calm, such peace, such solitude
in this world of woe.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAdatHF2DdZxBjoKO1TNpywqLevrsaXAW22rD-NOmQks_QzFFgR4A4OHKKXnogMHV8JwJA7j1MRHDp5NHQ-TlEDUitol_W2-XabmFQn7Ogu5WIcDFt1Maj263Xv5UEGLPZXzOR1TN3rC0/s200/budbill.jpg)
"The Sixth of January" by David Budbill, from Moment to Moment: Poems of a Mountain Recluse. © Copper Canyon Press, 1999.
Photography credit: "Watching the Snow Falling," by akinosora (originally color).
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