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Dear January.

I don't deny that there are days of beauty;
days of temperate tones and warm blue skies.
I don't think I'm confused; so allow me a bit of muse.

Perhaps it's me and my shortsightedness,
but when I'm cold, I'm not at my very best.
There are those who prefer a winter wilderness, but
I rather recline by the fireplace in my warm winter nest.

In all honesty, I don't see you in terms of endearment;                                  There's a coldness emanating from you, disconnecting                                      us. Perhaps we should not anticipate a relationship,                                   
but accept and adapt to being 'worlds apart' with                              
no hope of conciliation. Moreover, when I'm cold, it's                            
difficult to conjure up excitement toward you.

No, it's not cold-heartedness to which I refer.
It's warmth and consideration that I prefer;
which is something I've never gotten from you.
The nature of your beastly being does not seem to                                
match your lovely name; but it does cause pain.
To my ears, there's a melodic sound about your name
that's pleasing; but I raise questions about your name                                                                                          
because its melody stands in conflict and often confounds.                                                                                                 

I realize that my tone might breed discomfort, but I mean no offense.    Please understand that I would love to call you Jan if I felt closer to            and not distant from you. Your name enchants with charms, but your character and the true nature of your being are cold and reeks a destructive toll upon hurting souls like myself. Unless or until my feelings change toward you, I'll just call you by your name, January. Perhaps I'm just getting old and becoming less immune to things cold; or perhaps I need to be told that I should adjust and get used to your bone-aching freeze.

Nevertheless, before I close, I do recall  a winter storm that I must disclose.
It was a night of serious uneasiness, docked in a 50 foot boat at Point Richmond in The San Francisco Bay. I tell you, it was a long and dark winter night of longing for day. Before morning light, for the first time in my life, I arose to downed and dangerous electric lines.  With caution and fright, I crawled upon the ground and maneuvered through, safe and sound.                                                                                                                                   

I know that we all, even you January, have a job to do and a purpose to fulfill.                                               And again I mean no offense, but I must say that it was no thanks to you nor any lucky star on that dark and wintry night of woe. Rather, I thanked my Dear Lord who spared my life and limbs and graced me with memories.

Sincerely, Cujo

081621PSCtest, "N" Poems, New or Old, Constance La France. 2P
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