Secret Love
We're all complainers about the weather
But sometimes, we say, to ourselves
(and never out loud)
That we love the snow.
That it's warmer when it snows
That it may mean a "snow day"
Or a "get home before the storm" early departure
It triggers nostalgia: sleigh rides, paradoxical warmth, muffled hushes
It embraces and enfolds us
Yet we would never admit our devotion to it
We are snows unrequited love.
1 comments:
I say I love the snow. I reminds me of Winnipeg winters where I don't have to look at trashed up littered lawns, dead grass, and dirt. The white snowbanks.
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