Snow on Cedars
It is Monday morning.
There is snow lying on the cedars
outside the window.
The cat is sleeping
on the afghan-covered couch.
Dishes are stacked in the sink.
There is a basket of clean laundry
at the foot of the bed.
I will not pet the cat today.
I will not wash the dishes.
I will not fold the laundry.
The best that I can hope for
is to remember the snow on the cedars.
