One of the last things I considered an obstacle to my moving a distance that could encompass at least one European country was weather. I had known of summers that peaked at 48 degrees but winters that were less cold and more humid. Never mind that, I would still take out the one sweatshirt I owned and pretended to know what experiencing all four seasons felt like. Now that I have moved, and have implicitly agreed to braving another three winters, at least I have an improved resistance to cold weather – probably the sole legacy of my move to the North.
Winter has come. Ned Stark was right. And what a cold winter it is.
The idea I have of winter
Is one of twenty degree days,
Chic sweaters seen on Tumblr,
Artsy enough, slightly frayed;
Mugs of steaming tea
That stay inexplicably warm
No matter how cold it gets it’s hygee,
And no matter however long;
A bit of rain makes perfection
If I can stare at it out of a window
The sound of it hitting glass
Is comforting when I’m indoors;
Fog in the morning is inspiring
To create art in whatever form,
But if it’s less than ten degrees
Then it’s what I need protection from;
And so, I thought
I could manage winter
And all its misgivings,
Turns out I only like the cold
When I’m warm enough for
Comfortable living.
