The Short History of the Red Sox Championships

Ode to the Withered Brown Pumkin Vine

by Bill Russo




Withered and brown is the vine leading to the pumpkin.
The Corn, Squash, and Snap Beans? All those I did pick
and lovingly preserve in glass for later consumption.
Food and Warm Fire help please, the Winter Blues to lick.

Though some may look forward to it as "Thanksgiving", there are

those of us who loathe the  approaching winter...its darkness, its unforgiving coldness, and its icy reign that seems five times longer than the sweet, brief summer. 

In youth I was among those brave/foolish souls who wore a short jacket (If I wore one at all) right through December and on to April and May.  Skidding down icy paths in January using my shoes as skis, I gleefully looked forward to the snow storms and called them a snow capped oasis that shielded me from the tedium of the Hardie Elementary School in a town called Beverly, a few miles North of Boston.  

As I grew old, so did winter, its many charms lost upon me as I reached for the cold and flu medicines that spilled out from the medicine cabinet and threatened to make a path from the bathroom sink all the way to the bedroom.

For some 40 or 50 years I toiled the many, many months from December to May, squeaking by with a little less energy every year.  Though many may disagree, at age 65 I found that I absolutely detested winter and that I needed to find a cure for it.

Luckily for me there was a way to escape the ravages of the frozen beast.  I pulled up stakes and fled to South Florida.  It may not be for everyone.  You can tell me how lovely it is to see the snowflakes come down.  Extoll  the virtues of skiing, building snowmen, skating on thick ice, etc. etc.

While I'm sitting like a teabag in the heated pool, steaks grilling on the barbeque nearby, perhaps I'll miss the snow for a second or two....but I don't think so.

Peace and love to all, where-ever you are.  Peace and contentment actually is found in the mind, not in South Florida or Caribou, Maine.