So that's it
``The whiteness of meringue becomes for me of great poetic preoccupation; it's like snow, like frost ... like ... purity.'' -Wayne Thiebaud, artist
why, when I see snowdrifts caught in frozen waves against the snaking fence, crusted in peaks and glassy in the sun, a primordial need, unreasoning as the southbound geese, thrusts me into the kitchen where windows steam with pea soup simmering and cats hog the heat from hot air registers, and I, a driven woman, hunt for the double boiler, break open eggs, flute the crust, cocoon the lemon heart in mounds of purity; then, having done my part, I transfer power to the oven and wait for art to reflect life.