With Toto in her arms, Dorothy clicked her heals and repeated “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.”
Brainstorm your thoughts around the word home. You may use Dorothy’s iconic words as a title. Or describe a place in your life that feels like home.
I used a form created by J. Patrick Lewis called the zeno based on a numerical sequence for syllable count: 8, 4, 2, 1, 4, 2, 1, 4, 2, 1 in which each one syllable line rhymes. For more examples, I found this 2014 post from Today’s Little Ditty.
Snow transformed home to wonderland, silent ocean of white flakes reminding us climate wakes imagine us safe from snakes.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
As I was driving to school this morning, I wondered if the snow we had last week was all part of a dream. Every time I saw something white, I turned my head. Is it snow? No, there are still white sheets covering plants (ghosts of snowmen) and litter of white plastic (ghosts of snow drifts). But our temperatures are back to normal southern winter, 40-60 degrees, and there are few signs that last week we were covered in snow.
My students were so eager to write about their experience last week, a historic snowstorm. Most reminisced about the snow-people they built. Some wrote a Slice of Life without my prompting. I spoke with a colleague whose students were similarly inspired to write.
Kailyn described her snow-person: “Let’s talk about what my snow woman was made out of. Her eyes were flowers from my mom’s office, her nose was obviously a carrot, and her lips were a jelly belly sour pucker lip. She wore a Mardi Gras scarf, quickly changed to a light up necklace along with a coffee cup in her hand. We stuck a branch of leaves in her head for hair.”
Carson’s mother sent me a photo of him making a snow angel.
Carson, 3rd grade, makes his first ever snow angel.
James, 4th grade, wrote an I am From poem about a photo I posted of a Cajun Snowman.
I am from The winter breeze I am from wearing jackets I am from The chilly snow I am from Drinking hot chocolate I am from Making snowmen
I encouraged my grandson, Leo, to create a journal page about the experiences we had together. His writing is coming along, but most of all, I’m excited that this is something we can do together. You have to love his signature.
I hope all of our children remember this experience, but we know it will fade, as the snow has faded. I decided to create a photobook for our family. No one seems to do photo albums anymore, so with a photobook, I can remember alongside my grandchildren, who are probably too young to remember. Maybe they will. The magical wonderland of Narnia. Our own time warp through the wardrobe.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
I woke up this morning to snow, snow, snow! That may not be so unusual for those of you in most of the country, but to us in South Louisiana, this never happens. It’s never happened in my 42+ years of living here. The prediction was for 4-8 inches, and I believe we have reached the higher mark. I’m sure it’s a problem for some because our systems are not prepared for this, but I’m enjoying all the texts of photos and videos of my grandchildren. I’m staying warm and safe.
Here’s a gallery of photos:
Downtown New IberiaMardi Gras snow queenLive oak Bayou Teche
Winter Storm Enzo Pantoum
Flakes of white flutter in the wind as snow layers over green. Festival of inches is a historical event– One hundred years before snow returns.
As snow layers over green, dim light shines on bayou brown. Will snow return in a hundred years? “This snow is awesome!”
Dim light shines on bayou brown; Old boots from a dusty box I found. “This snow is awesome!” The world stops, watches, and listens.
Old boots from a dusty box I found stomp in a festival of inches, a historic event, while the world stops, watches, and listens as flakes of white flutter in the wind.
This never happens in South Louisiana, a snow day. Yesterday, the weather man predicted a wintry mix. All schools in Acadiana were canceled for Friday.
Like an excited child, I have been up since 5:30 AM checking for snow…no. There is some ice accumulating on the deck, so I suppose it is a good thing little southern children are not having to stand outside and wait for buses that do not handle ice on roads well. Hey, I’m not complaining. I get a free day. But as I look at my father’s drawing of this beautiful silent scene of snow, I can’t help but wish I could see this in my own yard, if only for a few moments. There is something silent and magical about the first snow.
Snow Day
Snow fell silently through the night,
Tufts of a fluffy cotton-ball sweater.
I wake to a field of white.
White-topped limbs reach out for light.
No one predicted this wondrous weather.
Snow fell silently through the night.
Come to the window to see the fresh sight.
Cancel school. Let’s play together.
I wake to a field of white.
Smooth pure canvas, all is right.
Each leaf a glass-encased feather,
Snow fell silently through the night.
–Margaret Simon, all rights reserved
This poem is featured in my book Illuminate. Enjoy more Poetry Friday over at Tara Smith’s Site, A Teaching Life.
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She teaches gifted elementary students, writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 