Flying South Without Wings

Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car?
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood,
The Elfin from the green grass, and from me
The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?
– Edgar Allan Poe, “To Science”

December 29, 2008
12:34 AM:

Canada Geese are honking in full force. This year, the Winter Solstice took place on December 21st at 7:04 AM EST. And that supposedly magic holiday Christmas, the day of sometimes miracle-bred/necessitated white precipitation, was four days ago.

I am less-than inclined to entertain theories involving geese that forgot to leave for the South with the rest. On a sadder note, I am even less inclined to take faith in superstition surrounding the time of the incident (12:34 AM).

Because this has happened, I can’t even enjoy a ride home from a night of good company, conversation, and a couple of drinks with my favourite girl without writing this in my head.

Yesterday morning the temperature rose to 16 degrees Celsius, and I live in Ontario. The only snow in front of my house is leftover residue from driveway shoveling. Across my bedroom floor, a fall jacket, various sweatshirts and a winter coat don’t know whether they belong in my closet or on my bedroom doorknobs, which – over the past few years – have become progressively lonelier.

It used to be the snow that got me down – now it’s the whole season.

I have always selected my dress attire according to the temperature and a brief glance outside. In winters-past I have maintained a default winter coat, but this season, I’m just as confused as the geese.



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