It’s been seasonally unseasonal
With slight refrigeration and but
A sprinkling of salt, this winter’s
Been a pleasant disaster thus far.
It’s been about an hour and fifteen
Moments now, since the monotone
And balding mainstay with the same
Black suit and black bowtie (which is
The only distraction the viewers are allotted
In order to cautiously avert one’s gaze from the
This man’s blind-emitting reflective Temple-born overt glare.)
He instructed us to batten down the hatches
For the midnight hours will deliver, with a fair
Amount of certainty, much more than the typical
Thirty-five percent, super-bowl-like guesswork,
That’s oft perceived as Elite
Amongst the castes & fan-boys, in the world
Of meteorological prognosticating.
Forty-five miles each and every hour of the overnight,
Will terrorize the mountains first, move into the plains
Then swim about the lake, holding still, circling, just long
Enough for the temperatures to spike below, from forty-one’s to
Twenty-two’s, depreciation, if included in a piece referencing
Ages, might spark some spiked memories of their own, at which point the lady of the lake effects will show her force, that despite the spattering underachieving mother our nature has proven this winter thus to be, the lady shan’t be so kind this stormy first month night.
The howling will begin, like banshees in search of souls to tease, and then the clacked-clacking of the skeletal shells of trees, rocking, swaying keenly in the dark, where a barely visible half-cloud covered moon, illuminates the long raspy branch-like fingers as it scrapes against the uninsured side panels of Home.
Soon the sound will be reduced to the silence only heard in sleep—
Those temperate delusions we dream to ourselves, where pleasant anecdotes and grandiose scenic enshrinements emboss the frontal portions of our yet to exit REM state mind.
Gently snuggled under:
A. Faux Silk sheets, Gold
B. Faux Chamois ½ blanket- Blue & Gold
C. Cotton blanket, full, Red, White & Blue
D. Original Comforter couldn’t bear to part- Tan and White(ish)
E. New Comforter, plush, Gold
Head nestled amongst: 3 pillows, and a monster green pillow thing, mainly meant for decoration, yet used on occasion, when I don’t want to wake the dogs from rest, yet need a brief respite from the daily.
Unprepared I close my eyes. Yes, I watched the news, I just said I did, detailed it quite so-so if I don’t say so myself, but it’s been mild, it’s been calm, and horizontal snowfall hasn’t been seen in years, a feat that’s rare, even here. So I close my eyes, unprepared for the morning groans over snow, where still in pajamas, the eyes watch the snow-globe outside, as if some wizard is constantly flipping us bottoms up and renewing the invigorated non-stop snowfall drifts.
Luckily, I have an out. All I have is an appointment. I can cancel if I must. For four letter’s white, look much prettier, when behind the frosted pane inside.
And the eyes roll underneath now enveloped lids. The chest rises and falls as breathing beings often should. The only occupation of light is a small blue dot flashing. The only remnant of sound is the sound of slap-chop or one of its kin. As it does appear I fell into the evening hibernation a bit prior to pushing power on the satellite receiver, television, all-in-one control, remote button.
And at some point, my hand must have slid, as it now lays draped over the side of bed, fingers must have given way, as the carpet now holds the remote in its overnight vacation place, away from it’s controlling friends, by the nightstand, next to the window and the comfy leather viewing chair.
But none of this I can see for myself, it’s a picture, as seen from the guardian angel that hovers above me during dream. And I must say, I cannot complain, he’s done a swell job for the most part, always paying attention to each dream dreamt and then some more. Yet, I do believe, knowing him the way I think I do, he most likely covers his eyes during those certain types of dreams… only lifting away a finger or two, for a very brief pecking of time. Curious. Interested, but coy, and red, regarding the ruffling of his wings, and the slight increase of light, shining in unexpected rhymes from the halo above his head.
Winter. Outside the pane, approaches tonight.
Or so the forecaster guessed, and, I do so guess as well, that tonight, I do believe, that there’s about a fifty-three point nine percent chance that I believe his prediction will come true this night. But all will be fine. All will be …
But a confession I must make. I cheated. My big toe always gives the chill away, hours before the temperature drops. And it doesn’t matter how warm and cozy the socks are worn to feet. When it’s cold, I’m all too well aware of the numbness in my foots frozen thumb.
Sleep tight dear dreamers
Dream soft dear sleepers
Stay warm. Stay nestled—
Cozy in your beds, where,
If you can’t fall tenderly on
Your own, whisper internally,
A sweet, sweet song, but only after
Praying your prayerful words
In the darkness of between the flickering light,
And if possible, if you can, if you’re not alone this winter’s eve…then kiss your partner on their cheek
Cover them tight, and bless them peace in dream
And… let each other’s body glow, keeping each the other’s full frame warm…on this predicted to be, awfully chilling winter’s sleep…
Oh, I don’t care too much for…Oh, Let it snow, let it flow, Oh I don’t care too much for snow, but oh…
In touch or
You won’t be cold inside or out
It won’t matter what middle-aged balding, bow-tie wearing man with a monotonous voice says about the cold, cold weather he predicts to come, on this cold, cold winter’s eve, on this cold, snowy cold, winter’s night to be.