Snow an erasure poem: chapter eight “To Kill a Mockingbird”

unfathomable to the most experienced prophets
autumn turned to winter
We had two weeks of the coldest weather since 1885.
It was written on the Rosetta Stone that when children disobeyed their parents, smoked cigarettes and made war on each other, the seasons would change
burdened with the guilt of the aberrations of nature,
causing unhappiness to our neighbors and discomfort to ourselves.
died that winter, but her death caused hardly a ripple—the neighborhood seldom saw her,
you oughta ask him.
looked sternly around his newspaper at me: I did not.
and it wouldn’t do to push him any.
Jem had a notion
our activities that night last summer were not solely confined to strip poker.
Jem had no firm basis for his ideas, he said it
thought our activities that night last summer were not solely confined to strip poker. Jem had no firm basis for his ideas, he said it was merely a twitch.
Next morning I awoke, looked out the window and nearly died of fright. My screams brought Atticus from his bathroom half-shaven. “The world’s endin‘, Atticus! Please do something—!” I dragged him to the window and pointed. “No it’s not,” he said. “It’s snowing.” Jem asked Atticus would it keep up. Jem had never seen snow either, but he knew what it was.
I think, though, if it’s watery like that, it’ll turn to rain.
The telephone rang
breakfast table to answer it.
giving first-aid instructions
finally called us to order and bade us look at our plates instead of out the windows, Calpurnia came in and said it was sticking.
When we ran to the back yard, it was covered with feeble soggy snow.
every step you take’s wasting it.
mushy It burned. “ it’s hot!”
“No it ain’t, it’s so cold it burns. Now don’t eat it, you’re wasting it.
Let it come down.”“But I want to walk in it.”
“I know what, we can go walk over at Miss Maudie’s.” Jem hopped across the front yard. I followed in his tracks. When we were on the sidewalk in front of Miss Maudie’s,
He had a pink face and a big stomach below his belt. “See what you’ve done?” he said.
It’s bad children like you makes the seasons change.
reflected that if this was our reward, there was something to say for sin. I did not wonder where Avery gathered his meteorological statistics: “You all stay in the middle of the yard. There’s some thrift buried under the snow near the porch. Don’t step on it!” “Yessum!” called Jem. “It’s beautiful, ain’t it, Miss Maudie?” “Beautiful my hind foot! If it freezes tonight it’ll carry off all my azaleas!” old sunhat glistened with snow crystals.
She was bending over some small bushes, wrapping them in burlap bags. Jem asked her what she was doing that for. “Keep ‘em warm,” she said.
“How can flowers keep warm? They don’t circulate.”
“I cannot answer that question, Jem Finch. All I know is if it freezes tonight plants’ll freeze, so you cover ‘em up. Is that clear?” “Yessum. Miss Maudie?” “What, sir?” “Could Scout and me borrow some of your snow?” “Heavens alive, take it all! There’s an old peach basket under the house, haul it off in that.” Miss Maudie’s eyes narrowed. “Jem Finch, what are you going to do with my snow?”“You’ll see,” said Jem, and we transferred as much snow as we could from Miss Maudie’s yard

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About m.a. wood

writer, thinker, musician, teacher
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