A Death of Cold

July 28 2020

The welcome reprieve

of a cool day

in a blistering hot summer.

Suffocating weather

has turned temperate overnight.

So the greens are bright, the air crisp,

a stiff breeze

is blowing in

from some northern latitude.

But how soft we have gotten

in this sultry heat.

As if our blood had thinned

the spine gone out of us.

As if muscles had weakened

and heart chambers stretched,

leaky pumps

barely mustering pressure.

A bone-deep chill

penetrates down to the marrow.

My summer skin

with its healthy tan and high colour

seems suddenly blotchy

blanched

less substantial.

I head outside

in a wool cap and long pants,

fleecy jacket

zipped-up tight.

Cold hands

feel their way into pockets,

shoulders hunker down.

I might just as well

be from Alabama,

with a Panama hat

and a southern drawl

and all the time in the world.

Where no one's in a hurry

and things move slow.

Who can't imagine winter,

having never shovelled snow

and hardly even seen it.

Who nearly froze

at a touch of frost

that unforgettably white Christmas.

Can almost hear myself say

a death of cold

I do declare

on this fresh summer day

with barely a nip in the air.