The snow drifts low
and yet neglects to cover me, and I
dance just ahead to keep my heart in sight.
How like a queen, to seek with jealous eye
the face that flees you, hidden city, white
swan. There's no art to free me, blinded so.

- excerpted from A City Winter, by Frank O'Hara

Today, I confessed my fear of being in a city that snows. At the same time, my confession is of awe and anticipation.