The sky in February. Can’t seem to make up its mind.
One minute, spring coming.
Ouch. When searching for metaphors, Robert Frost, poet and patron saint of nature observers, said it better. He would have been a wonderful blogger–he went out every day and wrote down his thoughts on mud puddles and stumps and weeds and bushes (and somehow he managed to be interesting in rhyming trochaic tetrameter, too, no mean feat.) Here’s his take on winter skies and winds.
Clear and Colder
Wind, the season-climate mixer,
In my Witches’ Weather Primer
Says, to make this Fall Elixir
First you let the summer simmer,
Using neither spoon nor skimmer
Till about the right consistence.
(This like fate by stars is reckoned,
None remaining in existence
Under magnitude the second.)
Then take some leftover winter
Far to the north of the St. Lawrence.
Leaves to strip and branches splinter,
Bring on wind. Bring rain in torrents—
Colder than the season warrants.
Dash it with some snow for powder.
If this seems like witchcraft rather,
If this seems a witches’ chowder
(All my eye and Cotton Mather!)
Wait and watch the liquor settle.
I could stand whole dayfuls of it.
Wind she brews a heady kettle.
Human beings love it—love it.
Gods above are not above it.
If you’re a fellow Frost fan, there’s a Robert Frost tribute coming up April 7, a fund-raiser for the Caffe Lena in Saratoga, with a terrific musical duo, the Lost Radio Rounders. More info later.