NaPoWriMo 17/4/16: The Snow Man

Opening his window, leaning out,

He breathes the icy air and scoops the snow,

Spreading it on a black board

To photograph the flakes

Before they fade. 

Forty-six winters

Alone in a Vermont shack

No crystal a copy of any other

No man, either.

 After he dies

Jewellers will use his photographs for patterns

And children in school will cut copies

As best they can.

 

Wilson Alwyn “Snowflake” Bentley (1865 – 1931)

I can’t help thinking how well he loved, this man.

What greater love than to chronicle

The casual works of God?

 What higher call

Than the lonely study

Of the beautiful?

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