Wither Winter Weather

Certainly I wish I had something more profound--or even entertaining--to write about other than the weather. Other than the winter. However I will say, about winter, this:

How disappointing.







Where, I ask, are my deep snows?

My bleak gray skies?

Where are my sub zeros? My sterile frozen black-iced nights and days? The calcite snows and stolid-iced walks?


Yes, there has been some snow:





Yet, it was but a small amount and did not last a day or two, let alone six months or more.


Here are some shots from Ark Ark Park:















Bleak? But of course, this is Soybean Island. Bleakness is par for the course and of course golf courses are but a symptom of its bleakness. I am, of course of course, never allowed to get near a golf course, if the powers-that-be can help it. Not that I'd want to be--a powers-that-be or near a golf course.

But it is not the correct bleak. Not the black hopeless heavy iron stone cloud bleak of desperation, a desperation where hope is finally let go of and buried and forgotten, not to be thought about again (at least until May) so that you are relieved of even a slim hope for hopefulness and thus can delve deep deep deep into your own blackness and insanity and become the independent-minded, single-minded, no-minded fool you already knew you were, lost lost lost in the obsidian-cold climate of your own soul with not a care in the world!

Ahhhhh . . .


But, no. Not so far. Only a small snow and some salaciously grey days and temporary low temps that do not even reach the teens, let alone zeros, let alone the desired well-below-zero.

Argh . . .











Oh yes:

The New Year is here.

Solar calendar and solstice and all that.

Whoopie . . .

And, I am still here
In the New Year
sans beer
or cerveza
unable to live in the guacamole of my mind


Oneninefiveseven:

Adios, Arrivederci, Au Revoir, Do Widzenia, et al, from Soybean Island