One winter back then, it got so cold, all the snowmen froze
to death; and the moon stuck to the sky.
‘Nother time, Time froze, so it looked like we’d have winter
forever.
But then the Blind Man had a good idea. He broke out the firewater, and soon
all was well.
There’s another story somewhere but I can’t tell it cos I
can’t thaw it.
So those are the tales they tell, out in Rootabaga Country.
Folks around here
believes them all; so I reckon
they must be true.
~
[Update, even deeper into winter. February the Frigid.]
I finally arrive at work, after trudging in from a far
parking-lot. I tell my
podmates (whose upturned faces observe what must look like an entering yeti): “Ask me if it’s cold.”
Exchanged glances.
Then, dutifully, someone recites:
“Is it cold?”
Momentarily I act nonplussed, as though the question made no
sense. “Is it -- ‘cold’? Relative to what? It isn’t cold
relative to Pluto; this would be like a summer’s day to
them. On Pluto, the oxygen is in a solid state, like peanut brittle; to breathe, you have to break off a
chunk and chew.”
Everyone allowed as how we’re lucky it isn’t that cold right
here right now.
No comments:
Post a Comment