A winter swimmer swims after breaking the ice on a frozen lake at a park in Shenyang, China. (wsj.com: Sheng Li, Reuters). Post title by Hélène Cixous, from Inside.
Tag: cold
Walking Cross-Town. With a Tin Cup.
The moment, seconds really, should have degraded into an inkblot, edges fraying, burrowing to lose itself among the billions of other moments, stored for retrieval at a later date when a similar moment showed up. Aha, I remember that.
But No.
This one Rises, floats on Top, bobbing up and down, making sure it isn’t lost. Remember this, it seems to say. Don’t forget this, it needs to say.
I’m walking Cross-Town on 47th. It’s dark. It’s early, 6:23 am. And, it’s Cold – sub 35° F, with winds gusting. Feels like 26° F. Biting.
I’m wearing a trench coat, knee length, its heavy lining leaning in on my shoulders. It’s zipped to the throat.
The fur lined leather gloves keep the hands and fingers toasty. I grip my case with one, and swing the other, the motion pulling me forward, the pace quick, the blood and bones warming from the movement.
And there he was.
Alone. Continue reading “Walking Cross-Town. With a Tin Cup.”
38° F. It’s still cold out there.
“Young, orphaned elephants are bundled up against the cold before going to bed at night at an animal rescue center in Kaziranga, in India’s Assam state.”
Source: wsj.com by Roger Allen/I-Mages/Zuma Press)
Only a kettle’s whisper
A farmhouse window far back from the highway
speaks to the darkness in a small, sure voice.
Against this stillness, only a kettle’s whisper,
and against the starry cold, one small blue ring of flame.
~ Ted Kooser, “A Winter Morning” From Delights & Shadows
Notes:
- Image Source – sideman. Poem Source: Thank you Rob Firchau
- Related posts: Ted Kooser
