One Snowy School Day 1955.

It snowed before school,

the familiar pavement

was hidden

by the cold whiteness.

Ellen was wrapped up

with buttons up raincoat

and scarf

and wooly gloves.

I braved the morning

whiteness and cold

to meet her

by the railway bridge,

wearing an old overcoat

dug out of the closet,

with a cousin's

handed down scarf.

We walked and slid

along the snow

covered pavement

towards school,

she talking about her doll's

arm being broken.

I wondered if the snow

would last beyond the day,

whether it would have laid

on the playground deep

so that snowball fights

could take place in recess,

or whether the grown ups

would keep us inside

to watch from classroom windows

the deeper falling snow,

where we could watch,

but could not go.