Snow poem for a SNOW DAY: (inspired, like all works of genius, by the combination of coffee, and lack of sleep)

'The white wind snakes its way across the snow
Coils, hisses, and is gone.
And starkly perfect ridges wait to catch
The meager light of dawn
Casting shadows where a watcher sees
Snow, bluely mirroring trees.'

That's how it seemed at three o' clock this morning anyway- so I scribbled it down in the margins of my notebook, and kept pegging away at Sartre. When I made a coffee run to the C-store at 11, the snow was falling in downy tufts of crystal so thickly I could barely see. The whole campus is transformed- there's something faintly artificial about it, as though one were wading across a vast stage, carefully decorated for a play, but not appearing in its true character. The cedars flaunt their costumes majestically, but the poor ornamental dwarf trees in the landscaped patches seem rather sheepish about it all. It's beautiful, and, somehow, not real. I lobbed a few snowballs at a walnut tree, with pathetic results- I'm a lousy pitcher! :-) It was somewhat depressing when I realized that there isn't a single person here on campus with whom I would feel comfortable starting a snowball fight. Considering my throwing abilities, however, it's probably all for my own good...

Thoughts on Frogs, Inspired By Finals

Sharon Moore: ""O to be a frog, my lads, and live aloof from care." -Theocritus. It was not explicitly stated, but it is nonetheless indubitable probability that when Theocritus penned these immortal lines back in the third century B.C. what he had in mind was that, frogs never yet having been known to engage in collegiate pursuits, much less, to embark upon research papers, they must therefore, lead lives of singular beauty. It was Plutarch who had to be a spoilsport in A.D. 100 and point out that: "Though the boys throw stones at frogs in sport, yet the frogs do not die in sport, but in earnest." Way to rain on my parade, Plutarch. Don't y'all think that I would have made a lovely frog?"

Abigail Joy Williamson: "Yes, yes you would. (:"

Sharon Moore: "Thank you, Abby. Your confidence and encouragement are heartwarming. Actually though, considering my difficulties with concentration, I may resemble something lower on the food chain than the frog. The phrase "Attention span of a gnat" comes to mind- but when it comes to MY mind, it is displaced almost immediately by the sight of the books on my desk, or a pencil on the floor, or even the soft, relentless sound of falling snow. Sigh."

Karen Emerson: "Except if you are a frog in Fellsmere Florida and about to enter the annual frog leg eating contest . . ."

Sharon Moore: "Well, yes, it is times like those which try the souls of frogs! :-)"

Psalm 65, and Psalm 69... to music?

Psalm 65:
Lord, You who hear our prayers
In You will men confide
When we were overwhelmed by sins
Forgiveness You supplied,
And praise awaits You!

You answer us with power-
With power and awesome deeds!
Thou Savior, hope of all the earth
Who stilled the roaring seas,
All praise awaits You!

You call forth songs of joy
Abundant harvests bring!
The hills are clothed with gladness, and
They shout for joy and sing!
And praise awaits You.


Psalm 69:
Save me, O God,
For the waters have come-
The waters have come to my neck and I sink
In depths with no footing to rescue me from
The rage of the floods, the rage of the floods
And the deep waters pulling.

My guilt, and my folly are plainly in view
My wandering heart is before You.

Save me, O God,
For the waters have come
The waters have come to my neck and I sink
In depths with no footing to rescue me from
The rage of the floods, the rage of the floods
And the deep waters pulling.

And zeal for Your house, yes zeal for Your house will consume me.
And the insults of those who insult You will all rest upon me.

I pray to you Lord
In the time of Your favor;
In your great love,
O merciful Savior...

Save me, O God,
For the waters have come
The waters have come to my neck and I sink
In depths with no footing to rescue me from
The rage of the floods, the rage of the floods
And the deep waters pulling.

"Then, for no reason, an old dream makes one sober..."

'Many a dream makes riot in the dusk.
One dream ousts the dream before, then is driven off by the next.
The ousted dream is black as ink: so is the one that stays.
Both seem to say, "See what a fine colour I am.",
Fine they may be, but in the dark you cannot tell.
Nor can you know in the dark which one is talking.
In the dark you cannot tell, with your fever and headache.
Come, clear dream, come.' ~Lu Xun

"Then, for no reason, an old dream makes one sober;
Alone, and out of the light I think of sorrow." ~Lu Xun