Unseasonably Warm

Nov 10 2015

Unseasonably warm.

On the cusp of winter

that refuses to tip

into cold.

The natural order of things

we thought was set.

So the landscape sits;

leaves undressed

greenish grass, arrested.

Confused birds, that should have left

stretching-out their stay.

And the low sun, unsettling us,

as shadows lengthen

darkness comes too quick.

When the succession of seasons

we’ve always known

has broken down,

all predictions missed.

Yes, how pleasant it is;

but this steady state has us squirming

as if on hold,

expectation

penting-up.

Apprehensive

the weather gods

will exact their pay.

A zero-sum game

of a hard winter

frozen spring.

How amused they must be,

glancing down

as we fretfully wait.

This resigned pessimism seems endemic to northern people: that we will inevitably be punished for good weather; that life, at best, is a zero-sum game.

It really is unsettling, though. There is this feeling of waiting, of something impending: an uncomfortable holding pattern, and nature out of whack.

I think Weather Gods (or perhaps The Gods of Weather) would have been a much better title. But this is a good case of not wanting to steal my own thunder:  that is, best to leave  the little twist of superstition and whimsy to the end.