Not much going in comp because of snow. BL’s hit the ground running with certain human tendencies and the green creative writers are writing a 2 stanza 10 line poem on snow. Everyone rushed out and brought back a handful of the stuff for a lesson on texture. The folks were good enough to avoid an all out snowball fight. In the poem on snow, the excluded words are white and cold.

We’re working on sight; how do we see through poetry? And who’s seeing, the poet or the audience or both? In BL Barbauld is helping. She’s telling us about flight, space travel, contemplation, and personification. And she strokes up against the border between what can be known or what should be known.

I don’t know about you, but I’d like to bend down and scoop up some Martian sand and let it drop and toss it up into the rarefied air.