Still Posting

I heard the Horses in the dark,

I heard the Horses in the dark,
Their Bells against the snow —
A muffled Thunder edging near
That lets the Sleeper know

The storm has peaked and passed its Rage —
The World will wake to white —
But Beasts and Men brave out the cold
To set our morning right —

How warm the Quilt becomes just then —
How small the chambered Room —
When Hooves and Blade break through the drift
And push away the Tomb

Of winter’s most ferocious Gifts —
The Harness jingles by —
A warm contentment in the dark
The sound of Metal cry —

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Response

  1. jmdickinson Avatar
    jmdickinson

    This morning, I woke to the sound of a snowplow scraping past my childhood home in western Massachusetts, just a few miles from where Emily Dickinson lived and wrote. We share a family connection, and I’ve always felt a kinship with her work – the way she could take a small, domestic moment and find the eternal in it.

    Hearing that plow in the dark, I was struck by how safe and warm it made me feel, knowing someone was out there in the cold, clearing the way. I wanted to capture that feeling in her style – her compression, her dashes, her way of holding opposites together. The original plows in her time would have been horse-drawn, with bells on the harness and metal blades scraping through snow, so I tried to imagine it as she might have heard it from her own room on a winter morning.

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Still Posting is a blog about TV, internet culture, nostalgia, and longform thoughts from someone who never really logged off. Less hot take, more deep scroll.

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