This winter started in October. The temperature dropped below freezing. Snow fell in November. A blizzard shut down New York at the end of December. The rich mayor blamed the the unions for the city’s failure during the crisis. He belong to the wealthy class. I escaped the cold three time. Twice to Thailand. Once to Florida. Last month I traveled south to Virginia. I stood on a beach along the Potomac River and stated to Ms. Carolina, “I think winter is over.”
The next day I jumped off the dock into the river. The water was 45F. My fingers and toes lost feeling within seconds. Only the sea off Bar Harbor was colder. 44F in mid-August. I survived that plunge in the river, but the next day the weather turned wintry. I saw snowflakes a week ago. The Ice Age was triumphant until the daffodils pushed through the earth to show their yellow petals this week.
The trees along South Oxford wore a shade of green bespeaking spring. I played basketball in the park. My joints moved with fluidity. 60 years of age reversed a decade with the promise of warmth. The thermometer didn’t break 60, but by the weekend fools would be wearing tee-shirts and sandals.
Winter is over.
For this part of the year.
No telling when it will start on the back end, but I’ll enjoy every seconds of heat the world has to offer this old body. It’s will make an old man come to life like a mummy meandering from the grave.
How sweet it is.