I grew up in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas, where 60 degrees merited a heavy coat, mittens, and scarves. I didn’t see my first snow until college. Christmas comes in various shades of brown and gold. And no one goes swimming unless the water is 80 degrees. Florida and Texas share the same types of weather, including our snowbirds (Northern winter visitors to the state). I’m relieved to finally find a poem which celebrates winter as I do.

For blood grown thin
forty Fahrenheit is Siberia —

breezes suddenly blue
and brittle
shiver through citrus leaves —

a birdsong
bleak and offkey
chills our sense —

sunlight, pale and tentative,
shelters us from shade
where wisps of vapor
from our mouths recall
northern winter breath
thicker than cigarette smoke,
that reminds us:

Death owns a time share here
and watches,
dressed in warm-ups,
from his lanai.

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About scribedscribbles

Like most people, I hate filling out profile pages. Who am I? Well, I’m a wife, teacher, daughter, and friend. I’m also an intellectual, an introvert, a night owl, and a bookworm. I work with struggling readers and overachievers, ages 11 to 15. I take care of students, a cat, two rabbits, friends, and my husband. I enjoy geocaching, reading, volksmarching, gardening, crocheting for charity, lecturing, science fiction, learning, and teaching. My favorite colors are blue, green, and purple. I am judgmental, dyslexic, sweet, overweight, graying, short, generous, loving, supportive, and chronically early to meetings. I’m afraid of snakes, putting my head underwater, heights, depths, and failure.

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