Putting Up With The Cold Weather

 

Cold Poem By Mary Oliver

Cold now.
Close to the edge. Almost
unbearable. Clouds
bunch up and boil down
from the north of the white bear.
This tree-splitting morning
I dream of his fat tracks,
the lifesaving suet.

I think of summer with its luminous fruit,
blossoms rounding to berries, leaves,
handfuls of grain.

Maybe what cold is, is the time
we measure the love we have always had, secretly,
for our own bones, the hard knife-edged love
for the warm river of the I, beyond all else; maybe

that is what it means the beauty
of the blue shark cruising toward the tumbling seals.

In the season of snow,
in the immeasurable cold,
we grow cruel but honest; we keep
ourselves alive,
if we can, taking one after another
the necessary bodies of others, the many
crushed red flowers.

I forget very quickly that we've had some above average temperatures this month and many normal days of moderate cold, but given a few days of bitter cold and below zero wind chills and it seems like it has been forever. 

Respite is on the way! A January Thaw! A few days of warmer temperatures. I associate a/the January Thaw with my Mom. She is the one I learned the term from and, in my mind, it always seems to happen right around her birthdate, January 25.

Beginning this afternoon our forecast for the coming week is highs in the 30's and 40's. Thanks Mom.  💛🌞

(Note: My photo is from January 16, 2022. We have had very little snow this month.)