It’s still ten below at ten o’clock and the first pot of coffee just kicked in, half-way through the second. A hoary morning, for sure, and even though the sun shines bright through a clear lens of chill arctic air, dark shadows loom, stretching northward across the ice, clawing for purchase while being drawn slowly south.
I’ll go back out, soon enough, but for now I am content to sit across from a south-facing window and study poetry. Everyone could benefit from a little poetry now and then, so I share with you now what I am reading today.
Lines Upon a Tranquil Brow
by Walt Kelly
Have you ever,
while pondering the ways of the morn,
thought to save just a bit,
just a drop in the horn,
to pour in the evening or late afternoon
or during the night when we’re
shining the moon?
Have you ever cried out,
while counting the snow,
while watching the tomtit warble
“Break out the cigars, this life
is for squirrels;
we’re off to the drugstore
to whistle at girls”
(Used with love, but not permission)