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The house across the street here
in Victoria one early morning
before the moon had gone down. |
Rain drip-dropped from low clouds avoiding my protected kitchen window dribbling through
eaves and downspouts
Not a prairie winter with
glistening icicles
white, crunchy snow
blue, blue sky
winds that whip up the grainy powder
sending it skidding across highways and into driveways
Nor winter in the great plains of Texas
dry sandy brown grass,
brown leafless trees
blue skies and a few evergreens
the only relief of color
wind whipping and loosening top soil
sandblasting anything daring to stand in it’s way
Snow a short lived treat - for some
Winter on this west coast island
grass green in yards and boulevards
growing unchecked with
any other growing plant - hardy flower or gangly weeds.
In those nights dipping below freezing
garden’s vegetables wilt into thawing mulch on the bare wet soil
sky cloudy and patchy blue on the good days
winds like giant hands claw mightily through trees and
shake stout fences, angry that they stay standing.
Winter in all these places share
warmer clothes - whether snow boots or rain boots
comfort food - chili, stew, hot cocoa ______ (you fill in the blank)
a desire to hibernate
in a cosy bed
curled up on a sofa
out in community for laughter and good cheer.
(Sometimes a magic snowfall does quiet any of these lands.)
“Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and
warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for
a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.”
~ Edith Sitwell
