In the autumn of 1998, Ted Kooser took morning walks in his recovery from cancer and radiation. He was told to stay out of the sun, as I was, though I tend to forget, and so he walked before dawn on the isolated country roads of his home in Nebraska.
He writes, "During the previous summer, depressed by my illness, preoccupied by the routines of my treatment, and feeling miserably sorry for myself, I'd all but given up on reading and writing. Then, as autumn began to fade and winter come on, my health, began to improve. One morning in November, following my walk, I surprised myself by trying my hand at a poem. Soon I was writing every day."
We are now at his season, and so, today, I give you his poem of November 10th, 1998.
High winds all night.
Most of the snow passed north of us,
but this morning we're given the fancy white lace
at the edge of that blanket,
every weed on the roadside coated with ice.
Behind the counter at the post office,
somebody's small carton stamped with block letters:
ANGEL MOMENTS WITH SNAIL.
I drive very slowly all the way home.