Ten Inches

Ten and a half inches of snow descended upon my house tonight.
After the yellow streetlights came on and the accumulation slowed
I took three small children, scarved and mittened, out to the driveway
and we shoveled away, effort on my part, adventure on theirs.
As we scraped the asphalt they began to conjecture
Amid the grunts and heavy breaths
That made them feel so much more effective:
"You think it'll still be snowing tomorrow?"
Debate ensued, exchange of ideas and spirited conjecture,
the final conclusion drawn: maybe
the snow would continue through the night and pile up so high
that even Dad wouldn't be able to make it out the front door
and we'd all be trapped inside til spring, or else
we'd make tunnels through the snow, live in subterranean splendor,
burrowing to the mailbox or tripping over
the neighbors' surprised and uncomfortable dog.
"Yep, that's probably it," they decided,
and having agreed upon the immediate future of the neighborhood,
fell back to work, carrying each shovel-full
down to one corner of the driveway,
piling it up "so we can build a snow-fort."
I did not see any reason to remind them that their tunnel system would
Serve to render moot the igloo plan, nor to inform them that
the Weather Channel had already predicted
a cessation of flakes by the wee hours of the morning.
They are still able to have and eat their cake:
who are the Weather Channel and I
to take it from them?


12.19.2008: I miss believing the weather reports I made up.