Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Plink on the windowpane

Slate sky

murky cold haze
wind chill
ekes through fibers
coat to sweats to underwear

blasts aching bones
limping feet
hobbled knees
crippled hands

feel the gray
wall of pain
The ice storm began on Tuesday around 6 pm in Bedford. The plink of freezing rain on the pane. An extra shine on the pavement and the exagerated fervor of the weathermen, with maps in white and pinks, heightened the frenzy Ray and I call the Blast of White Death. Indeed, we awoke to a Wednesday world encased in a sheet of ice. No need to shovel. We don't own one.
Instead, Ray trudged out to make the long slow drive (1-1/2 hours) to work, and I limbered up my fingers for a day of writing and editing. Ray arrived at his job safe and sound, and I was comfortable knowing I need not drive anywhere. Donning a sweatshirt over my black long sleeved shirt, I wrapped the afghan around my feet, and typed away.
Now, everything has melted and we'll be up to 60s by the weekend. However, an ice day in Texas brings back the little kid in me who loved the freedom of a snow day.

1 comment:

  1. Joanne,
    Love the poem and the images. Tuesday night and early Wednesday morning I took several looks out my bedroom windows--two face MacArthur and I can look east toward downtown Dallas, the others face south and I can see the rest of Las Colinas and the corner of Texas Stadium. I too donned sweats over flannel pajamas--I hate central heat and don't turn it on til I have icecicles hanging off my nose. Sat at the computer, a Dr Pepper close at hand and my cats at my feet. Doesn't get much better than that. i know I know the cats ruined it for you.