I.
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…
With
love
In
touch or
In
dream
You
won’t be cold inside or out
And
then…
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.
