(no subject)
It is late autumn and the weather is unpredictable. Three days ago I wore a coat, scarf and gloves, and bundled I walked for hours through Manhattan and discovered every single dead end in the city. When finally I spoke I had difficulty forming vowels with my frozen face. I rubbed my cheeks. I arrived at The Cloisters. They are always always playing Hildegard in the gift shop there which makes it the absolute best gift shop in the whole world. The art there is heartbreaking and beautiful and awesome and sad. From the balcony on the west side you can look across the Hudson River to the cliffs that make up what just has to be the most beautiful portion of New Jersey. Sunlight sparkles off the water. This all used to be forest land, you know.
The weather, unexpectedly, becomes warmer. It might not be unexpected to meteorologists, but I always forget to check and they're always wrong when I remember. I wear too many layers and have to lug a useless scarf and gloves around. On the subway my coat is suffocating but it's too much trouble to take it off, and then the train stops for five minutes for what appears to be no reason in the heart of rush hour and the train keeps filling and filling and filling until is Tokyofull. I get out two stops early and walk from there in the morning air that is not cold but crisp. I like the thought of air being crisp. I should always get out two stops early, it gives me to time to calm down before I get where I'm going. I have a great desire to eat gingerbread. Cocoa always tastes better than I remember it tasting which is weird because I remember it being fantastic and it still manages to exceed expectations. Right now, even as I type, I am listening to Hildegard which makes this the absolute best post ever. No contest.
The weather's about to shift. I wish I could say that "I feel it in my bones," but it's actually just an educated guess based on the fact that it, yes, tends to get colder at the end of the year. November is leaving us, and December is fast approaching. I will bundle. It will begin to snow. It will be very beautiful and the world will be quiet and I will stand in the middle of a snowbound street looking up into the glimmering sky and I will stick out my tongue and taste a snowflake, but before I do so I will look around to make sure that nobody is watching me. I will be annoyed at having to get undressed every time I walk into a building. My glasses will fog up uncontrollably. Gingerbread never tastes quite as good as I remember it tasting. The snow will freeze and get mucky. December will give way to January and February and then it will feel like I haven't seen a leaf or grass in like forever. Daylight will come and go in a matter of hours and it will be so obnoxiously cold and I'll forget that the snow makes everything quieter and calmer and more peaceful. And Central Park will be full of trees that seem like they'll never come back to life. But maybe, just maybe, just maybe.
Here are three winter poems that I like, in case you were in the mood. Thanks to Anonymous, Robert Frost and, uh, Kelly R. Bennett.
The weather, unexpectedly, becomes warmer. It might not be unexpected to meteorologists, but I always forget to check and they're always wrong when I remember. I wear too many layers and have to lug a useless scarf and gloves around. On the subway my coat is suffocating but it's too much trouble to take it off, and then the train stops for five minutes for what appears to be no reason in the heart of rush hour and the train keeps filling and filling and filling until is Tokyofull. I get out two stops early and walk from there in the morning air that is not cold but crisp. I like the thought of air being crisp. I should always get out two stops early, it gives me to time to calm down before I get where I'm going. I have a great desire to eat gingerbread. Cocoa always tastes better than I remember it tasting which is weird because I remember it being fantastic and it still manages to exceed expectations. Right now, even as I type, I am listening to Hildegard which makes this the absolute best post ever. No contest.
The weather's about to shift. I wish I could say that "I feel it in my bones," but it's actually just an educated guess based on the fact that it, yes, tends to get colder at the end of the year. November is leaving us, and December is fast approaching. I will bundle. It will begin to snow. It will be very beautiful and the world will be quiet and I will stand in the middle of a snowbound street looking up into the glimmering sky and I will stick out my tongue and taste a snowflake, but before I do so I will look around to make sure that nobody is watching me. I will be annoyed at having to get undressed every time I walk into a building. My glasses will fog up uncontrollably. Gingerbread never tastes quite as good as I remember it tasting. The snow will freeze and get mucky. December will give way to January and February and then it will feel like I haven't seen a leaf or grass in like forever. Daylight will come and go in a matter of hours and it will be so obnoxiously cold and I'll forget that the snow makes everything quieter and calmer and more peaceful. And Central Park will be full of trees that seem like they'll never come back to life. But maybe, just maybe, just maybe.
Here are three winter poems that I like, in case you were in the mood. Thanks to Anonymous, Robert Frost and, uh, Kelly R. Bennett.