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I hanker and pine for wood burning stove weather

I haint no spring chicken,
("Buk buk buk buk ba-gawk!")
but in Summer re: 
long in tooth sexagenarian 
nostalgic for the following imagery 
evoked yesterday with very little effort
(aside from sweat of my brow – just existing)
June twenty second hazy, hot, and humid 
at least here within the environs - 
of Montgomery County, Pennsylvania
tooth thousand and twenty four,
the air analogous to a steam bath outside,
though such insight 
strictly predicated on meteorologist
as seen on the flat screen.

Now before scrolling down
lemme forewarn you of dire prediction
reading about how yours truly 
doth suspire for Old Man Winter
returning with a vengeance
delivering a white July Fourth, Halloween, 
Thanksgiving, Christmas, 
Groundhog Day, Saint Patrick's Day...
yours truly desiring experiencing 
becoming comfortably numb, 
after envisioning, invoking 
then summoning forth cold spell.
 
Should deep freeze rain (reign)
crystalline precipitation pure as the driven snow
blanketing large swaths of webbed wide world
wreaking havoc courtesy 
unparalleled blizzard conditions, 
would stump and confound earth scientists 
suddenly finding themselves pensively trumped 
subsequently becoming overnight skeptics 
and staunch Republicans to boot - argh,
who grudgingly, hesitatingly scrap 

what seemed to be 
irrefutable air tight evidence 
with reams of data proving global warming 
and side with deniers – 
mostly non Democrats 
courtesy artificial intelligence 
hinting at inexplicable 
significant ice age approaching, 
barreling, and coming fast as a freight train
virtual models prognostication 

would show Polar Vortex
engulfing the entire planet
clamping down hard 
much of the United States 
likely a couple short months in the future,
forecasting temperatures to register absolute zero
taxing the electric grids to heat lovely bones 
chilling, freezing, immobiling civilization, whereby 
government agencies regularly issuing 
permanent code blue declarations, 

which teeth chattering cold scenario
impossible mission to imagine or avoid
with wind chill factors in triple digits 
Jack Frost overstayed courtesy welcome,
when climate controlled central heater
allows, enables and provides
man/woman made respite hooray,
apartment cozy as a poetry nook,
whereby yours truly his head he doth lay
(under crocheted blanket)

quickly slipping into deep sleep;
the missus (madre) and her padre
(me) taking a siesta until spring
in my dream I take treadway
from such new zzz land 
to Piccadilly Circus, London,
welcoming me to early twentieth century
balmy weather all year round 
place named Willoughby, where one 
unnecessary to get bundled 

and wrapped up – 
like a mummy dearest  
kvetching in vain at frigid forecast oy vey,
where surveillance cameras take x-ray
of suspicious character - Not Me,
while actually in reality
outside apartment B44 
one after another Nor'easter
howls like bajillion banshees
vents wind chill factor 

as temperature dips
into low double digits as high,
and subzero higher negative number as a low,
I summon (with a puff) fire breathing 
friendly quasi magic dragon, 
an acceptable and laughable substitute 
calls for none other than Barney
purple anthropomorphic 
Tyrannosaurus Rex dinosaur.

Though a non-smoker of cigarettes, 
I discover pleasure slowly puffing 
on my pipe, and chose one at random
from among the collection 
made of briar wood, meerschaum, 
corncob, pear-wood, rose-wood or clay  
listening to crackling flickering hearth,
yours truly snuggling 
(curled up in a little ball)
with favorite reading material
close proximity warming, 
thawing, and quelling lovely bones.

For no particular rhyme nor reason
I lapse into a reverie 
and hear the brutal and nasty wind
plaintively howling the song Molly Malone
her lilting voice distinctly heard
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"

Meanwhile atavistic visitations hover
after hypnotizing mindscape 
of twenty first century Homo sapien
as flashback visions of proto humans
commingling with competing 
short and nasty brutes 
brushes within subconscious
purring, mew zing catacombs
jump/kick starting, harkening,
dawning lion eyes zing 

thawing ordinarily dormant memories, 
where forebears alive bajillion years ago 
battle him of the republic
thumping their chests 
and uttering primal sounds
against vastly outnumbered predators,
who make mincemeat of weakest warbler
similar to contemporary beastie boy punk bands
survival of the fittest 
linkedin to anonymous 

Monkey's Uncle recherché representatives
toehold barely latched
precarious niche easily
activated punctuated equilibrium evolutionary quirk
imperceptibly bumped uglies
begot robust progeny
offspring expanding comfort zones
penumbra expanding edge of night
dark shadows receding further
outer limits of twilight zone

phantasmagoric shifting shapes 
images in the flame
(hint...think Plato's Republic in general – 
and Allegory of the Caves in particular -
synonymous with Allegory of the Metals)
alluring, beckoning, daring...
establishing, foraging, growing...
harvesting, invoking, jabbering
kowtowing, livingsocial,
Ashley Madison matchmaking tinder (ha)...

now lemme zip forward
back to the future
bajillion years somewhere in time circa 1970's
British comedy troupe
nudge nudge wink wink,
say no more
know what I mean courtesy
Monty Python's Flying Circus
rollicking humorous sketches
oft times tackling primal urges
proto humans initially verbally grunted,

where guffawing laughter
rewarded survivalist basic instinct
temporarily staving rabid
quivering premonitions outside
creature comfort boundaries,
whereby Geico Caveman
will remain till... dis ember
by George thoroughly good appetizer,
viz good chilled Wren plus
Pheasant under glass
burns away hunger pangs.
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