When I write my poetry, I go for the image, always the snap shot or the photograph, the one thing, that will force the reality of what I'm seeing into words.

Driving through downtown, and seeing Columbus with a bird on his had, I felt I had the perfect image. Since I used to work on Montgomery Street, at the Metropolitan School of the Arts, I often spent time at Columbus Circle.

To me, Columbus Circle is the center of the arts community, with the Civic Center, the museums, the old Metropolitan School of the Arts, and the library emanating from that center. And I like the symbolism of Columbus: the patrons of the arts, the ones who go to arts projects downtown, seeing horizons in the arts.

The performance was over and most of us were warming our cars, on our way home from the Civic Center. Snow blew fiercely down the street.

A lone musician, bent against the wintry blast, carried her violin close to her side. Perhaps her car was parked in a lot on Warren Street or Fayette. I hoped her walk would be short, that she had a snow brush, that her car was nearby.

As we drove north along Onondaga Lake Parkway, the snow became more intense. She surely was home, and we were not far from ours, all of us braving a winter storm for music, a night at the symphony.

The inspiration for my haiku was the memory of the August 1949 commemoration of Goethe's 200th birthday held at Schiller Park. I attended with my father, Frederic Kramer, a professor of German at Syracuse University. In German, he addressed the gathering around the monument to both Goethe and Schiller.

Though we lived near the University, we had many friends among the German-American community on the North Side. That day, I was proud to celebrate with them and to hear my father's address, a tribute to the two poets and to our history.