Poem

Snow, Aldo

by Kate DiCamillo

Once, I was in New York,

in Central Park, and I saw

an old man in a black overcoat walking

a black dog. This was springtime

and the trees were still

bare and the sky was

gray and low and it began, suddenly,

to snow:

big fat flakes

that twirled and landed on the

black of the man's overcoat and

the black dog's fur. The dog

lifted his face and stared

up at the sky. The man looked

up, too. "Snow, Aldo," he said to the dog,

"snow." And he laughed.

The dog looked

at him and wagged his tail.

If I was in charge of making

snow globes, this is what I would put inside:

the old man in the black overcoat,

the black dog,

two friends with their faces turned up to the sky

as if they were receiving a blessing,

as if they were being blessed together by something as simple as snow

in March.

Photo by Krrristyn

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