Up north, trouble is steeping away
a cold brew in the works
an icy blue cloud on the weather map
like a smudge of something borrowed
turning up where it doesn’t belong
The kitchen is a greenhouse
snug and tightly stocked as the fridge
where heat, not freeze, means calamity
But the storm, if it arrives, is hours away
so for now we are just waiting
as anxious in our anticipation
as the crowd who delights
to see grumpy, waddling Phil
rousted from his seasonal sleep
to wink his eyes in the direction of winter
True story: I scratched this out this morning for today, since we are indeed waiting for a winter storm on this Groundhog Day. Repeats are nice, but maybe not of the snowpocalypse we experienced last year down here. . . . Thank you for reading!
The Poetry Patio 