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(This map was posted by Accu-Weather as “fair warning” to Northeast US residents, on April 13, 2010.  Needless to say, it was tongue-in-cheek. However, the predictions made for us in western North Carolina for this weekend’s storm sounded very much like the above “Weather Armageddon.”)

Sidey’s Weekend theme is “Revenge.”  Oh dear.  I saw the theme shortly after the weather started making a change.  I immediately thought of Oscar Wilde. A quotation from him vis-a-vis the weather:

“Conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative.”

So I suddenly – quite naturally, considering my post this past Tuesday – began feeling terribly unimaginative!  And then because of Sidey’s theme, I started to get a little worried.  Hopefully, the following will explain:

17-19Don’t hit back; discover beauty in everyone. If you’ve got it in you, get along with everybody. Don’t insist on getting even; that’s not for you to do. “I’ll do the judging,” says God. “I’ll take care of it.” – Romans 12:17-19 (The Message)


The Winter That Wasn’t (so far)

(If you think this poem shows imagination,
I should reconsider my avocation.)

The weather’s been a disappointment,
I wrote in a poem the other day,
bemoaning that whoever makes the weather
has not been making it exactly my way.

(In my defense, I will point out
that “my way” has lately suffered drought)

Oscar Wilde said my imagination’s lacking
because of my weather discourse.
I’ve always suspected that’s true of myself,
for lack of imagination is my tour-de-force!

(I figure that it is easier that way.
Take pride in your failures – least that’s what I say!)

I hope against hope that I’ll be forgiven
for finding no beauty in winter this year.
I will be repaid, taken care of, in fact,
or so it says in the Bible, that point is clear!

(To some, perhaps, clear, but my judgment’s clouded,
misty, befuddled, and coarse linen-shrouded.)

Would my disdain of the weather this winter so far,
result in some heavenly chastisement?
I’ll have to repent of my childish complaining
or at least take it under advisement.

(I’m well-prone to thoughtful consideration,
but not to follow-through with sin-cessation!)

Perhaps there was some sort of misunderstanding
when Paul epistled those words to the Romans.
I wonder, when he wrote that “God will take care of it,”
what he said does not include snow fans?

(Surely God won’t “take care of me” that way,
for breaking a rule snow fans can’t obey.)

For no sooner had I written my elegant words,
(purely for love of the plants needing slumber),
the weathermen here warned: “SNOW! WIND! & COLD!
Are coming to make fingers numb and toes numb-er.”

(Surely you understand what my position is –
his word is as good as a politician’s is.)

I said in my poem that I would be startled,
whenever such warnings are sounded,
if it snowed. I was startled all right, to be sure!
In fact I was deeply confounded.

(Don’t you think that revenge on fools such as I
would waste the time of our God, Most High?)

For the winter that I felt sure would not come
has come like it’s seeking revenge
to take out on me ’cause I called it a weakling –
now it’s acting like it’s from the lunatic fringe!

(Winter’s just right when the snow comes, all fluffy
but adding a cold wind is more than enough, see?)

I will close this meager poem, now
With words penned after the storm had ended:
All I got from God was a slap on the hand –
So I’m forced to post this poem amended!

What had been predicted did not come to be –
Though the “fierce” winter storm brought cold air, it’s true –
My record still stands almost flawless and clean
The deep snow some expected here bid us “Adieu!”

(Though telling you might be bragging, I must:
this so-called storm, as I said, was a bust!)


I can hear you all groaning.  I, too, am glad it’s over – so please, I beg you! Let me off the hook for this one!  I was tired.  Please take no revenge. . .A little pity would be appreciated – we had to say “Goodbye,” (at least for now), to Zoë and her Mom and Dad today. It was a three-hankie scene! Now please notice that I asked for a little pity. A pinch of commiseration would be just enough. . .