A Psalm

For the director of music. To the tune of “Let it Snow” or possibly an acoustic version of “Wrecking Ball.” A psalm of M.

The Lord turned to me,

and heard my cry.

He saw me,

in my bed underneath 6 blankets,

with my pajamas turned inside out.

He heard me join in a collective prayer,

with my coworkers,

He saw the unfortunate wiggles and shakes,

of my snow dance.

The Lord turned to me,

and heard my whines and groans,

“Why do the wicked get snow days,

O Lord!

Why do you forget your servant, Lord?

Why do you hide your face from me,

and force me to sit at my desk every day,

Monday- Friday with no respite for the weary!”

He broke forth from the cumulonimbus:

millions of crystals that settled onto trees,

the roof of my car,

the highway just before rush hour,

proving that His timing is perfect.

I shall give thanks to the Lord,

all the days of my life!

And sing of his glorious works,

of accumulation somewhere between,

3-5 inches,

where a day will be full of snow angels,

snowmen,

instead of paperwork and voicemails.

For the Lord is good,

His good acts like the snowflakes during a snowstorm:

pure, evoking joy.