Seasonal Adjustments

The snow has begun.
Two to four inches they say.
No one pays attention to it.
Normal life in New England.
Nothing stops.
Schools open at the regular hour.
Here at my second favorite diner,
it is not even the topic of conversation.

Enough of anything,
no matter how vile or wonderful,
and it becomes normal.

We adjust.
That’s what we do.
not content exactly.
Not happy.
But we live none the less.

This Southern boy has come to love the snow,
Its coldness. Its silence,
Its blanket of transformation.
Never a burden, it is beauty.
It slows us down. Forces us
to live a more human pace.

The other things?
I wrestle with them, aware I am an abberation.
Sometimes surrendering,
more often fighting,
Never quite able to accept the idea than anything but
kindness
matters.

About this poem.

Just a meandering. I really am at my favorite diner. It really has begun to snow just moments ago. The picture was taken, however, from my living room as the last snow began.

Tom