I sit becalmed
in trackless heat and rude humidity....
and dream of....
........anything but winter..
Anything at all...
In summer I allow no thoughts of winter to intrude.
It is as if six months or even eight vanish into a magician's cabinet never to emerge on the stage in my mind.
Looking out on sun baked green I hold at bay all thoughts of wide, white wilderness where nothing walks but the ice cold wind.
It is just as well to do the same for summer in winter, though harder. Imagining green only leads to wistfulness...
However, along about February, when it ought to be spring but isn't, damn the torpedoes, here's some summer.
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