Posts Tagged winter

Before frost takes them.

Getting ready for it.

With frosts and freezes in the near forecast,
it’s time to close out summer.

The last little eggplant hides shy among
the sweet yellow/green/orange/red peppers
banana variants, mostly,

and the bowl of heat, chilli & jalapeno,

 and sweet poblano.

The last tomatoes on the vine

and unready clusters of red and orange cherries;

while still ripening on the sill, last week’s blacks and oranges.

Rosemary was just going from her summer on the porch
to upstairs winter quarters,
but she shared a few springs on her way,
invited herself to dinner.

Just for drill,
drained the hoses,
drained the valves,
checked the heater in the pump room.

Ready, not ready, I guess.

Winter is icummen in, lhude sing gol darn.

Everything is mowed.

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20­°F — you still get hungry.

Winter is officially here when Garrison Keillor offers his annual celebration.

The weather, he says, is making a serious effort to kill you,
and that’s clarifying, it strips away non-essentials.

Your job is to stay alive.
You’re not a waitress or a plumber or a professor.
You’re a mammal.

There’s no distinction by class or talent,
there’s not even gender, if you’re dressed properly.

I found a warm blooded neighbor, well-dressed, a couple days ago,
emptying the birdfeeder on the back porch.
He didn’t mind the porch light, didn’t mind the bedroom overhead light,
not even the swivelling bedside lamp.

But my flashlight, and my presence,
just two 1/8″ sheets of glass and 1/4″ of inert gas between us,
that gave me enough light for a picture
and made him feel unwelcome.

He descended, backwards,
like a white bronco in a slow chase.


I told him he could stay,
if he’d just take off the mask.

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