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Furry jackets make me feel…prehistoric.

Some musician friends of ours are scheduled to play a gig in a suburban Philadelphia pub tomorrow evening, and we are planning on being there. HOWEVER, the forecast is calling for snow, beginning in the wee hours and continuing throughout the day, turning to what is euphemistically called a “wintry mix” [read:  ice]. If we are unable to make the gig, it will probably be some time until we see them again, as they are flying back to LA on Saturday. So, with apologies to the children’s skipping rhyme, here’s today’s haiku:

Snow, snow, stay away,

Come again some other day.

Marna wants to play!!!

We’ve been having a run of rainy, dreary, damp weather here in Pennsylvania–many days in a row. After a torrential downpour in the wee hours of Saturday night/Sunday morning, the wind got wild and blew in great heaps of gray-black clouds and snow, alternating feathery dustings with whiteouts. Today we were left with numbing, branch-snapping cold, the kind of cold that takes your breath away and freezes the insides of your nostrils. The sun shining in the high arch of dark blue sky did absolutely nothing to warm the day. The cat fluffs out her fur and huddles in a fuzzy C, curling her tail over her nose to muffle the cold. I’m shivering as I write this, in spite of the space heater going full blast at my feet.  So here’s my winter Haiku:

More and more each year,

I really hate the winter.

Take me to the sun!

Morning begins as a sleepless night, morphing into dreams/tortured worries about specifics and the world in general. Eyes burn, bloodshot, scratchy. Gotta go to work. Dusting of snow on sidewalk, turns to rain, soaking gray day, downer, downer, downer…Heavy on my shoulders and on my soul.               

                          Monday…ugh….Monday…                        

                          Winter Mondays are the worst.

                          Pleeezee…just let me sleep!

Here in Pennsylvania we have a unique method of predicting the arrival of Spring–his name is Punxsutawney Phil, and he’s a groundhog who resides in his burrow in the small western PA town of, yes, Punxsutawney. This is a Pennsylvania German tradition that, I just learned today*, has links to the Celtic/pagan festival of Imbolc, celebrated at the halfway point between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox. On that day the goddess Caileach emerged from her burrow to gather firewood. If the winter were to be prolonged, she made the day sunny to facilitate her wood gathering. If the day were cloudy, she stayed asleep in her burrow. In Phil’ s protocol, if the weather is sunny and he is frightened by his shadow, he retreats to his burrow for six more weeks of winter. An overcast day precludes shadow formation, and Phil’s prognostication then is for an early spring. Various fraternal organizations, known as Grundsow (PA Dutch for groundhog) Lodges, throughout the state gather on February 2 to caucus with Phil and discover his prediction and, one imagines, celebrate the holiday with a pint or two. So here in celebration of Phil and his day, is my haiku for February 2:     

                           Punxsutawney Phil

                           Frightened of his own shadow–

                           Six more weeks til Spring.

*Op Ed Piece authored by Daniel Deagler in The Morning Call (www.mcall.com/news/opinion/anotherview/all-deagler2-1.6250535feb01,0,4548461.story)–gotta give credit where credit is due