After weeks of bare lawns and empty flower beds, dusted occasionally by snow traces that washed out immediately in rain, here it is, finally: snow, decorating the trees, blanketing the yard, and multiplying the light of the sky. My reward for winter. It was in the weather forecast several times without materializing, a gift withheld. I woke to it yesterday morning like a promise kept. Winter without snow in Michigan was just wrong, so when it came, even those who most complained about it had a certain level of relief. Things were going as they were supposed to go.

The snow exaggerates the shapes of some things, gives definition to others.

It plays games with light, at night as well as in the daytime.

It shook the last of the crabapples out of the trees and laid them out on the snow for the deer.

I’ve written many poems about snow since I moved here to be with Doug. In California snow was beautiful but far away – up there on the mountains, something I could see but not touch. Now here it is all around me, all the brightness and beauty of it up close. And yes, that’s a metaphor.

Happy New Year! We’ve had so much rainy, fifty-degree weather in the last two weeks, it feels like winter in California. Where am I? What season is it? I’m not the only one confused – look what’s growing outside my front door. Yes, it’s a dandelion, in Michigan at New Year’s. The little three-leafers near it are baby hellebores, normal for this time of year, so they got it right. I suppose the dandelions go by temperature, which has gone loony, and the hellebores go by number of hours of daylight, which doesn’t fool around.

Without snow it’s harder to track animals passing through the yard, but Mr. Eight Point, so reticent in past weeks, strolled right up yesterday and peered in my window at me. I believe we have now passed from gun-hunting season to bow-hunting season, but the deer have figured out to hang around houses for safety. They’re pretty safe anyway, with the wolves booted out and fewer people hunting.

Speaking of where am I, since it’s New Year’s Day I’m going to watch the Rose Parade. I’m going to stream it live from the LA station that has way the best coverage, and I’m going to hook my laptop up to my tv screen so I can see it nice and big. Don’t want to miss any of those flower petals. When I lived there I would either go to the parade or see the floats where they parked them afterward, but I never watched or went to the bowl game. I wasn’t into football until I moved to Ann Arbor and began to drink the water here. But today I will be watching the Rose Bowl for sure. I’m wearing my Michigan sweatshirt right now, to be ready.

Last night about ten p.m. a neighbor set off fireworks. They were loud, bright, and gorgeous, but it was only ten p.m. I turned to Google: where is the time zone two hours ahead of Detroit? Brasilia, said Google. Do I have neighbors from Brazil? If so, they’re probably happy to have a warm holiday. There’s much that’s beautiful in winter even without the snow – this bare maple glittering in sunlight, for instance. You’d think there was a California sun behind it. But it’s the same sun wherever you go, across the country, across the planet. It’s just after dawn in Pasadena now; the parade will start soon. Off I go to view it, from my different angle.