Hello Winter, hello flanneled
blanket of clouds, clouds
fueled by more clouds, hello again.
off to the west, that silver
of sunset, rust-colored
and gone too soon.
And night (I admit to a short memory)
you climb back in with chilly fingers
and clocks, and there is no refusal:
ice cracks the water main, the garden hose
stiffens, the bladed leaves of the rhododendron
shine in the fog of a huge moon.
And rain, street lacquer,
oily puddles and spinning rubber,
mist of angels on the head of a pin,
and snow, upside-down cake of clouds,
white, freon scent, you build
even as you empty the world of texture —
hello to this new relief,
this new solitude now upon us,
upon which we feed.
I love the idea of feeding on solitude, or of being fed by solitude. I feel pretty isolated by winter, mainly because I have a low endurance for cold, and I really don’t want to go out and slip on the sidewalk – like last year, or go out and have to catch some roving Ick and have three weeks of some evil feverish haze — like last year — or otherwise have to admit that it’s cold and I feel helpless against something that seems vast and malicious. (I’m also isolated by the fact that I’m actually slightly insane for anthropomorphizing the weather.) I also don’t want to admit that somehow I’d tricked myself into believing that winter in Scotland was Oh, aye, nae tha bad.
Oh, aye it is. I’m from California, and I freely admit that I AM A WIMP. Winter here is simply hard for me to take, no matter my Pollyanna routine.
…So, I am relearning winter, as I always must, and at this point in the middle, where many of us are giving way to despair (I know some of the parents are, anyway. Will their children ever attend school again???), I am trying to find grace in the solitude, beauty in the cold, and more room on my bed for blankets.
Poetry Friday today is hosted by librarian Jone, head on over and Check It Out.