I love it when the nights get cold enough to justify flannel sheets and down comforters. There’s just something reassuring about having a chill surround you, but remaining untouchable because you are hugged by the impervious warmth of your covers. It does, however, make getting out of bed in the morning even more difficult.
Tonight’s forecast predicts rain/snow showers. While I’m definitely not ready for winter, the weather has brought this poem to mind this morning:
Hello Winter, hello flanneled
blanket of clouds, clouds
fueled by more clouds, hello again.
off to the west, that sliver
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.