Winter's Beginning

The perky brunette in the red dress on TV showing me the weather

patterns of today and the days to come, the rainfall and the snowfall

and the hours of sunlight dwindling, would tell me it’s not winter,

that winter begins December 1^st, ending precisely 3 months later,

this exactness needed for following trends and comparisons, statistics; 

but the calendar on my desk and the Pagan buried deep within us,

early man’s observations of the skies and the shortening of the days,

say winter starts on December 21^st, the Winter Solstice, that shortest day

of the year, 9 hours shorter than the longest day in June, confirmed

by science and the tilting of earth, the sun standing still above the Tropic

of Capricorn, the Magic Moment, the alignment of earth and sun;

even the Old Farmers’ Almanac claims winter’s beginning as December 21^st,

and who are we to argue with the old farmers, those who watch the sky

and the weather and who know these things, nature’s ways, traditions, folk lore;

but for us in the northern clime, winter arrived mid-November with the first snow,

enough snow to require snow plows and shovels and winter boots

and mittens and hats, scarves wrapped around our faces and the ear-flaps

pulled down on our mad bomber hats, shutting out the cold of approaching winter,

cold creeping in in the weeks before Mother Nature declares, “now it is winter,”

and we wake up to snow lightly falling, large flakes ganging up on us

to cover the ground and the rooftops and the car, “measurable snow,”

and we trudge out, boots and hats and mittens, and begin the task

of moving snow around, from here to there, and back again, and the cold

bites our noses and fingers and toes and our complaining begins;

yes, we are the complainers.

But despite the brunette and the calendar and the winter solstice, science even,

the old farmers, despite the arguments, the debates, and the discussions,

winter has arrived with the first snow, and we start counting the days,

 awaiting summer’s return.