after hearing reports . . .

Playing in the Snow
            — to Elizabeth Bishop

It is so quiet in the snow!
It is the yard behind the house.
The colorful winter birds
are out, the shovel is in the sun.
Not a grownup is in the view.

Above, where the trees are barren,
the flocks of birds have chosen their places.
Those things are my company.
The frozen river and winds moan;
across the yard, the squirrels scamper.

We must come out of our tunnel
to ask the squirrel-shadow,
to move with a glow and warmth,
and return the shovel and the shine.
But oh, that we could stay out there. . . .