Finn on the Road

I am typing this post from an internet cafe in Ithaca, New York where I’m visiting my dear friend, the poet David Weiss. Yesterday I spoke at my undergraduate alma mater, Hobart and William Smith Colleges,in Geneva, New York. This is the area of New York known as the Finger Lakes, and the first snow of the year has been falling during my visit here. Frost is now on the apple trees and patches of new snow are collecting in the dark grass. I can’t say for sure why this should be so, but I get wildly happy with the new snow. I want to dance in the fresh cold and then cook a massive and earnest winter stew and call all my friends into the house. The poet Charles Simic said poetry is like a bowl of hot soup on a cold winter’s day. Here’s to Charles Simic, our current poet laureate. Here’s to the soup of first snow and to a little Bach on the radio. Steam at the windows. Friends coming over because we still can.

S.K.

Author: stevekuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by stevekuusisto