brief and to the gentle point

Merry February, everyone. There are lots of ways of giving advice: in the form of a command, by demonstration, through constant nagging or subtle suggestion, precisely with details, broadly with general encouragement. For this month's Inklings Challenge, Molly (also our host today!) offered us a prompt she found among those at Audrey Gidman's December Poetry Advent Calendar. It reads:

Write a poem after Wendell Berry’s “Like Snow” — word for word. Choose a subject: rain, a butterfly, granite, the ocean, anything. Berry’s poem is three lines long. Break down each line. In line one, replace the word “suppose” with something else: what if; in spite of; imagine etc., replace the pronoun and the verb, replace “snow” with your chosen subject. Do the same with the second and third lines. Be sure to write an epigraph that reads “after Wendell Berry."

To that Molly added advice in the form of permissions: "I'm not sure if this is easy or not, but it is short! I'd also add that you can just be inspired by this poem and not go word for word in your substitution. Or go rogue and feel free to interpret the prompt in any way that you want! Write about snow! Get inspired by another Wendell Berry poem! Or even choose a totally different prompt from the list."

And then, interestingly, Berry's poem is a kind of advisement, quite gentle; musing, even; a conjecture:

                    LIKE SNOW

Suppose we did our work

like the snow, quietly, quietly,

leaving nothing out.

            —Wendell Berry from “Leavings,” (Counterpoint, 2009)

What if indeed we did our one job, just that thoroughly, humbly, and then...were done with it? How might that change things? I found it a soothing challenge to transform Wendell's nugget of wisdom into something of my own. 

                       Like Progress

       after Wendell Berry

Suppose we flowed forward

like the path, curvingly, curvingly,

leaving straight lines by the wayside.

              draft ©HM 2026

What if indeed our progress is not fighting but flowing, is not a road but a path, is not straight and smooth but curved and not always clearly visible, and requires us to leave some of our driving behind? (Oh yeah: longanimity.) Sometimes you write the poem you yourself need without realizing it until ten days later. Also, didn't someone once say that "the personal is political"?

Furthermore, on the topics of snow and advice, here's a poem from this time last year, before I knew of Wendell's poem....

Many thank to Molly for her choice of prompt, and for hosting us today! Check out the takes of all the Inklings below.
Catherine @Reading to the Core
Molly Hogan @ Nix the Comfort Zone
Linda Mitchell @ A Word Edgewise
Mary Lee @ A(nother) Year of Reading
Margaret Simon @ Reflections on the Teche