Forecast
This afternoon might be the last time,
For the next three days or so,
That I'll be able to go snowshoeing in the boys' camp,
For a biting, fiercely blowing wind being forecast,
One so vicious,
It can make you feel as if the flesh on your face
Were being peeled away, a layer at a time,
With a blunt scalpel.
I need to take advantage, without hesitation,
Of whatever random chances
Nature throws my way, advances me.
I think that now, right this 15.7-degree hour,
I'd better get myself out of this heated cabin,
Revel in one more ecstatic go at the cold,
In the snow-enfolded, pine-silent woods,
Before my eager heartbeat freezes.
12/30/09 - (5)
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