Posted on March 21, 2026 by Jenn Zatopek

SNOW CEREMONY

It was over before it even began.

Arctic storm blasts the plains with sleet,
our land glowing unearthly white for days,
roads as slick as the town river, now frozen,
I rowed in autumn while you ran your marathon. 

Snow arrives next day like zazen sits,
silent as morning sun hangs in ripple skies,
while I sit quietly, watching it fall. 

After working all day, I step gingerly outside,
press my boots into prints along icy sidewalks,
delight in screams from kids sledding in the dark.

I am still the child inside, golden-haired and innocent,
recalling the last snow in Santa Fe on our hike,
trip to the mountains during the super moon.

You are the long walk through glistening streets,
your sideways glance ringing in my mind
like bright moonlight over mountains,
our talks a burst of cold laughter in my lungs,
your gift of nightgoggles a portent of your blindness. 

Wasn’t it you who said no to friendship,
because kindness overwhelms you,
makes you stumble in the dark?

Image / The hike in Santa Fe