this is the year of March. the month when, with all my hopes…piled like a snowdrift against the roof of the house, the world of white flying spectacular finally ends…and the corresponding frigidness of a multitude thaws….or at least heads for hibernation.
nothing says “global cooling” like stacks of record breaking cold temperatures daily…and nightly…figures so low, even the thinnest paper-thin anemic model, the width of a wafer chip, would register a number lower on a weigh scale than the average low temperature for February.
it was not a good sign when a multitude of local Valentine’s Day Dinner Specials were cancelled, due to romantic ice dams, sluggish speech, and frostbite. So many couples chose to hibernate individually in their own rectangular igloos through the first thirteen days of the month. And, as Robert Service, the bard of grisly Yukon Gold Lore, might say, “the men that don’t fit in” froze to death romantically, so cold, you could not bury their icy stares, nor their icy ways…
it is high time it thawed outside…and inside…so that the world can once again…go round…and round….as it does when the world has “love, sweet love.” in the meantime, keep your ice scraper and de-icer handy, you never known when you’ll have to thaw out a miserable soul…
something poetic 