(no subject)
Morning all.
*writes out long rant about people's inability to drive properly*
*deletes it*
Still not really snowing properly here thankfully, just enough to make people act crazy *sighs* Though we're predicted more this afternoon and if it comes I might get to go home early so we'll see. I'm trying hard not to be jealous of all the beautiful drifts of snow because I KNOW they cause chaos and upset but the grey slush here is just depressing.
So have a poem about it *g*
Slush by Alan Buckley
The furthest reach of snow was once well south
of the city, but there's been a steady creeping back
over the years, so now it's a decade or more
since the last deep fall, that hushed the streets
and kept the children at home. A brief flurry or two
sometime in January; but you have to drive
a good way north to find enough for sledging,
a snowball fight. One evening two winters ago
I could sense the air brimming with it, and when
I pulled open the curtains the next morning
I was a kid again, wide-eyed at that overnight trick -
the world re-made, uniform, and waiting for my feet
to make their scuffling mark. But the melt had started:
the main road nearby was grey with slush, the cars
flowing easily, and I knew it was already too late.
*writes out long rant about people's inability to drive properly*
*deletes it*
Still not really snowing properly here thankfully, just enough to make people act crazy *sighs* Though we're predicted more this afternoon and if it comes I might get to go home early so we'll see. I'm trying hard not to be jealous of all the beautiful drifts of snow because I KNOW they cause chaos and upset but the grey slush here is just depressing.
So have a poem about it *g*
Slush by Alan Buckley
The furthest reach of snow was once well south
of the city, but there's been a steady creeping back
over the years, so now it's a decade or more
since the last deep fall, that hushed the streets
and kept the children at home. A brief flurry or two
sometime in January; but you have to drive
a good way north to find enough for sledging,
a snowball fight. One evening two winters ago
I could sense the air brimming with it, and when
I pulled open the curtains the next morning
I was a kid again, wide-eyed at that overnight trick -
the world re-made, uniform, and waiting for my feet
to make their scuffling mark. But the melt had started:
the main road nearby was grey with slush, the cars
flowing easily, and I knew it was already too late.