I don't know what the title can be, but...

I'm watching a PBS thing on gospel music and just watched the march on Washington in 1963. The crowd, the good will, and Martin's speech. And I remember, I can feel it, the celebration, the joy, the gluck in my throat. Seeing it again today, my heart aches for where we have come. For what we have lost. No more to say about that.  
The snow has covered the ground here, is still falling, and the day is dark. I look out at the snow, and it gives me comfort. A feeling of being wrapped, the whole world being wrapped, protected. The voices of the folks coming and going outside are muffled. The house is quiet.

The snow brings back memories of other snows, the one when Wen was locked in at work for days, the one in GA one March, when Wen and I skied down Loving Road. People called in to the local radio station reporting who was stranded, who needed help, which roads were open, sending personal messages to relatives they couldn't reach, a county wide party line.

In Chicago, when I was six, playing in the backyard of the apartment we lived in, drifts up to my chest. Wearing some boots Grandma had sent. They were way too long and laced up to my knees, but I felt like Paul Bunyan or some such. Looked like this, but was gray.

Then I think about KiKi in Chicago having to take a bus and a train, and two hikes to get to work and school.

And Dip shoveling the 14th Street driveway for 20.00. Scrawny, out there till dark. 

Gock putting out the Stars, while Beech Grove's finest lay in wait.

Obb doing his Sunday route.

Snow. Somebody outta write a poem. Oh, wait...

And the snow keeps on coming down. 

This many part gospel music

 thing on PBS is interesting. You may have to be old. Makes me think of Papau.