This morning was a rare snowy day in Columbus, Mississippi, and Zinneke and I took our usual walk along the Riverwalk. On the way, all was quiet. Not many vehicles on the street, and only a few pedestrians. Some of our friends were down near the river, sledding with kayaks. Once we got to the main Riverwalk, we were on our own with only footprints and animal tracks. Snow on all the fields and the branches of the trees, slush in all the lower areas of the path, though the bridge over a small creek had a couple of inches of soft, white snow on it. Time seemed to practically stand still. The only sound, it seemed, was the crunch of my shoes and the dog’s paws in the snow. Walking back into town, was walking back into real life. A few more people out and a couple of dogs on the street. The snow lasted all day, along with a little of the glow of a quiet morning walk.
Published by Kendall Dunkelberg
I am a poet, translator, and professor of literature and creative writing at Mississippi University for Women, where I direct the Low-Res MFA in Creative Writing, the undergraduate concentration in creative writing, and the Eudora Welty Writers' Symposium. I have published three books of poetry, Barrier Island Suite, Time Capsules, and Landscapes and Architectures, as well as a collection of translations of the Belgian poet Paul Snoek, Hercules, Richelieu, and Nostradamus. I live in Columbus with my wife, Kim Whitehead; son, Aidan; and dog, Aleida. View more posts