In which Your Humble Blogger invokes the power of rhyming couplets in response to this hot, hot, holy-crap-is-it-hot weather:
“Sleeping Weather”
The last song's candlelight's been ridden
Home. Summer's gone. Her shoulder's hidden
Beneath her coat; the door step lamp
Has dimmed early against a damp
And falling night. Yet, though her shoulder
Stays covered now, the trees, in colder
Blue months, turn bare. Their leaves are laid.
The light returns. The bed's unmade.
* * *
It might seem perverse that I'm posting a poem that references the end of summer before summer has even started, but there's a good reason for it:
I don't like summer.
No, I guess it's okay, but give me the cool weather, the bright colors, the array of scents, and that odd feeling of change and possibility that come with spring and fall instead. And cooler weather is totally good sleeping weather for me -- I love bundling up under, like, twelve layers of cozy blankets! This poem was written last year when the weather is similar to what it is now: Hot. Surprisingly hot. It was written during one of the first warm spells of the year, which made the image of trees losing their leaves a much more appealing metaphor for me to work with.
"Hey, what's a meta for?" For making up poems that are totally out of season, I guess!
Yep yep. Same here. What interested me about this one is how it's hard to tell at first how you feel about the change of seasons -- subtle. But yeah, I'm with you. When I was in Istanbul (and freezing my butt off), I was actually kind of grateful for the head scarf I had with me for visiting the mosques, and ended up wearing it while walking out and about sometimes. It surprised me how comfortable I felt in it, not only for the added bit of warmth, but the covering made me feel a little different -- more secure or something. So yeah, I'm definitely most comfortable when I can wrap myself in a well-worn sweatshirt or jacket or something. Linus would have something to add to this, I'm sure :P .
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