and it reminds me of home.
Even after all these years
I still expect things to be the way I've always known.
Crocuses are supposed to peek their way
through frosty, frozen ground in March
and that ruddy yellow sunlight should slant
across the sky, beautifully, around five.
July is meant to be hot,
but October should be full of that crisp, cool air.
Christmas Eve means a chilly night
with mild snow.
New Year's dawns clear and cold.
A different climate is like an expensive wool sweater --
gorgeous, but uncomfortable.
I know t-shirts and jeans.
I wrote this poem yesterday. It's obviously about the differences between living in North Carolina and in the Midwest where I grew up. It's really odd how the climate of my childhood is still so deeply ingrained in me. I've lived here 10 years and it still bugs me that sunset is earlier than I think it should be. We have flowers (daffodils, even!) in February here. I am still not used to that. Sometimes there are days, like yesterday, when the comparison just becomes really striking.