Winter Weary - a Seasonal Tale

Winter Weary A rhyme that sends a winters “chill’. With snow, not knowing where to start. But as he’s had some time to “chill”. A fellow with a changing heart. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ I’ve never been one, for heading down south. As soon as the leaves, Get as dry as a drought. They hang there all golden, all orange and red. I think of all the song birds, they must be “winter” fed. To pack all my stuff, in the back of the car. Head then for the border, always seemed. . . going too far. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ For me, I suck it up, buy warm socks & shoes. Turn on the T.V. set, grab snacks and Mt. Dew’s. Ball games, there are many, furnace has been checked. There are plenty of groceries, pantries piled. . .double decked. Why this great rush to join the ‘grey haired’ masses. That will take their big R.V.’s to the Florida grasses. To the dryer called Arizona. To the spaces called Texas. You wimps are spoiled. What you need are more taxes. :o) ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Those were yesterday’s thoughts; I’ve had them for years. I think all my adult life, since dry behind my ears. But since “Global Warming” has hit the Mid West. Maybe heading down south, might really be best. You see, for a month, it’s snowed and now blowin’. The temps are so low, they’re barely now showin’. The numbers are all negative, wind makes them worse. I have words for all this, but not fit for a verse. I’ve just come back inside from attacking tall drifts. So if I seem a bit upset, I’ll admit that I’m miffed. I cleared my double drive to get our cars in and out, Then the plow comes along, that sight makes me pout. All the snow from up the street is now piled in the hole. At the end of my driveway, makes me feel like a mole. Always digging out, just trying to keep ahead. All this talk of “Five Seasons”, I’ve for years been mislead. The extra season was to enjoy, least that’s what I’d read. I find it’s merely time, for more winter time instead. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Seems I’ve gone on long enough, I’m starting to thaw. My hands are warming up, yes; they’re still rough and raw. But my jeans are near dry, there’s some feeling in my feet. I suppose it’s not too late, to go back to the street. To make one last pass, to clear those big drifts. I’m glad we’ve had this chat; my mind’s “clearly” made a shift. Yes, it’s now 8 below, the winds out of the North. The drifts in my yard now move back and forth. But the snow is so pretty, as it hangs from the trees. No snowflakes are alike, as they shift with the ‘breeze’. As I look out the back, the feral cats have been down. That black one, so frisky, so playful. . is really a clown. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ I couldn’t be serious, about leaving all this. So I’ll send you old snow birds, my great winters wish. Where ever you are, midst the sand and the bugs. I’ll stay comfy right here, wrapped in blankets and rugs. I’ll eat lots of the wife’s chili, navy beans with great ham. Her piping hot biscuits, smothered with P.B. and jam. There’s beef soup w/ fresh veggies, all diced up just fine. With fresh homemade noodles. A salad . . cheese but no wine. I know it sounds strange, this quick turnaround. But I’d miss the challenge, keeping both feet on the ground. When you’re fighting the ice as it piles on the walks. They insist if you don’t clear it, city fathers will squawk. I’ll not worry about that, in the spring there’s no snow. When the grass is getting greener, spring flowers then show. I’ll be here to see it. Iowa. . Then at her best. I’m lucky to be here . . . . I feel really blessed. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Written by oldbuck, after spending several hours today, playing in the snow