Back in December
an acquaintance snapped back
How will the cold in February
make me any warmer now
and I laughed
at the weakness
that spawned that retort
born in the soft warmth
of southern latitudinal
komfortismus
for I relished the snow
while it kept the air clean
and basked in the novelty
of unmelting drifts
that is
until the drifts waxed old
and the ice on the drive never shrank
and the days dared you
to just try
to spend them outside
which of course hurt worse
than
well
they just hurt
but when the air seemed to breathe
the promise of spring
my wife and I traipsed
above the mountain resort
in snow shoes and short sleeves
until our thighs and necks burned
for who thinks of sunscreen in February
Oh winter’s died its death
I decided
and took a hammer
and spent an hour’s half
sledging the ice on my
north facing drive
but I must suppose it displeased
the gods of snow
to see me in a t-shirt
for this morning greeted me
with clear skies
tepid temperatures
and deceit
the northern horizon at noon
hinting a deeper grey
until a third the way through
the post meridiem
the cold fell from its height
pushing the fragile warmth
back to Arizona
while the flakes silently slid
roaring in their multitude
toward the diagonal earth
and if I believe the printed prophecies
which I almost always do
here witness we
winter’s final laugh
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2 comments:
I'm considering it the groundhog's revenge. He's sick of us waking him up and bothering him, so he's finally decided to be super mean to us. But it was nice to have those few days of sunshine...
Oh, yeah. You got that right. Winter mocks us, my friend, at such a distance that we can't fight back. But here's my thought: snowstorms are just a one-sided snowball fight with God. If you must throw snowballs back, however, don't throw them up at the sky. Don't the scriptures say, "inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me"? So, to make the snowball fight two-sided, throw snow at random people, especially if they have ragged clothes on or look especially hungry.
Wonderful poem, and no, the cold now does not make December any more acceptable. (I don't remember if that was me or not; I have a conversation like that with someone a while ago. . . )
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