Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Here We Go

     The wind that blows straight out of the canyon every morning has got the tree's here on a permanent slant. Their branches distorted until they begin looking like unbalanced heads of hair, having been  twisted and tangled, wildly whipping, longer on one side than the other, frozen that way in every season. Looking much more frigid and forlorn, once all the colored leaves have all been severed, strewn across the landscape  by the freezing hooks of the nightly tempests.
     Often these Chinooks linger just outside the doors every morning, awaiting the opportunity to wrap icy fingers tenaciously around you, ripping that first breathe away with a gasp.
Clutching your arms tighter around you as the struggle to block the glacial numbing from overcoming you before you reach the relative safety of the once frost encrusted car begin. 
     Mornings like these are the reason you cinch your chapeau snugly down over your ear's, scrunching your neck down as far into your fashion light jacket, you fought so hard to wear, will allow. Wishing, a little to late, you would have put on something heavier. Grateful, but unaware, that Grammy has fought such battles in her younger life, learning to keep a warm blanket in her car for just such adventures...

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