Friday, November 14, 2014
All last week, weather forecasters predicted a cold front. Temperatures were going to be in the twenties, they said. The weather at that point, however, was glorious-- temperatures in the mid-sixties, red/yellow/orange remnants of fall coloring the landscape, and it was hard to believe that winter was coming.
On Monday, winter hit with a vengeance. It was almost sixty degrees when I took the dogs outside at 8 a.m., then at ten, a wind came up, and by six o'clock the temperature had plummeted into the twenties. Which was warm, compared to -11, which was what it was when I went to work yesterday morning. I'm having a hard time making the adjustment, but, well, Amy Gerstler describes the advent of winter much better than I ever could …
"A SEVERE LACK OF HOLIDAY SPIRIT"
I dread the white concussion
of winter. Each snowfall demands
panic, like a kidnapper's hand
clapped over my chapped mouth.
Ice forms everywhere, a plague of glass.
sickly tinkle makes my molars ache……
the mercury just plummets,
like a migrating duck blasted
out of the sky by some hunter
in a cap with fur earflaps.
Read the rest of the poem here.
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