The heat lately has seared the grass and troubled the atmosphere. Some people are grumpy too. I like warm but very hot changes my electricity. So I’m thankful for the blessed rain, however little, these past two days.

A poem about the rain would be a good thing to write especially if you’re over fifty. That’s when weather becomes more important. Your bones know it, your skin knows it and so does your disposition.

Here’s a poem to cool the air.

Winter With You

(after Masefield)

We’ll go out to laugh in the blued edged snow,

see iced-white birch trees bent down low.

See fluffed up wings of flitting birds,

cardinals and chickadees perched on firs.

We’ll hear jays, squirrels, and juncos too,

hike in the shadows deep and dark

and recite short poems learned by heart

while our long-haired dogs romp and bark.

When the cold clings to our fragile bones,

we’ll step inside to the warmth of our home,

sit in our chairs and drink cider and beer

then celebrate winter with a tip and a cheer.