It is cold here tonight. A drizzle is falling and so is the temperature. It should reach the high forties by morning. I know many of you are laughing, especially if you live in the north. We occasionally have freezing weather here, but it is not the norm. I have, however, lived far enough north to experience some very cold temperatures. I wrote this little poem to discribe the scene in northwest Arkansas following a winter ice storm.
Autumn’s colored splendor fades away.
It’s coming; I hear the north wind’s song.
Bare branches stand against a canvas gray.
Days shorten; nights become too long.
Cool, crisp, sharp, raw, blue.
Varied harshness marks its passing here.
Weak ones sometimes do not make it through.
At times, it also brings the strongest fear.
Blinding brightness – Snow is on the ground.
Icy crystals bend the straining bough.
Silence broken by its tinkling sound.
Surreal, it manifests its beauty now.
Happiness is always a by-product. It is probably a matter of temperament, and for anything I know it may be glandular. But it is not something that can be demanded from life, and if you are not happy you had better stop worrying about it and see what treasures you can pluck from your own brand of unhappiness.
- Robertson Davies