Saturday, February 01, 2014
My heavy flannel shirts felt warm,
When I was not so old.
My coat was shelter from the storm,
But now, my hands grow cold.
Then, Winter's drafts did not impair,
My shaggy, woolly pate;
But rich dark hair, no longer there,
Simply can't insulate.
My walks through silent, falling snow,
Seemed each a joyous trek.
Now, when those Winter breezes blow,
The snow goes down my neck!
Old Winter's lessons were complete,
When breaching a snowdrift:
Deep snow filled shoes, and froze my feet,
Gone near too numb to lift.
As I prepare to go out there,
I know what Winter loves:
I can't go out unless I wear,
A hat, scarf, boots, and gloves...
As a young man, I felt invincible and immune to the cold of Winter's blast. The years have brought, if not wisdom, at least a healthy respect for the icy fingers of the white season.
Posted by Mick at 10:14 PM