This is February for real -
crystal clear and brutal cold.
Each trip to the woodshed taken with measured eye.
Each wheelbarrow full one load less left behind to heat the next
arctic night falling on pulse-shattering day.
The race is on,
dwindling woodpile against
But we who live here know,
the sun is heat
and powerful even at glacial temps
and so sport shorts and tees
when others think of frosty freeze.
This is the weather of towering mountain peaks and infinite stars.
Who could complain about that?