We could talk about this or that,
or we could talk about the weather.
It seems to me not so inconsequential,
rather, the question is who the weather is consequential
for.
If your nose is on the inside of the glass,
frozen numbers on the outside are merely talking points.
A dusting of snow or a foot changes the chance of a school
closing,
the likelihood of sleds on nearby hills.
And will there be cold drizzle on your parade?
This year I jumped ahead of tradition and planted a few
potatoes
on an 80 degree day two days ahead of St. Patrick’s Day.
This year lettuce and spinach seeds had to wait for late
winter snows to clear.
With the weather more unpredictable,
gardening starts to feel like more gambling.
Today’s the parade.
The streets are packed with young and old
bundled up against the north wind.
I had to admire the young women
perched prettily upon the back seats of convertibles.
And I smiled at the startled look that crossed one smiling
face
as her driver revved the engine and released the clutch
too quickly.
The big blue beer truck crept passed too slowly
and the big boys and girls club bus,
packed to the windows with noisy, waving kids,
could have driven more slowly for me.
And the girl scouts walking in their sashes,
looking for people they might know
on either side of the street.
And there was candy, too.
It began to sprinkle as I walked down the sidewalk
against the flow of the parade.
The bow of the S.S. Minnow was crashed on a desert isle
riding the back of a flatbed truck.
Multiple copies of Gilligan in red shirt and floppy white
sailor’s hat
danced to amplified music.
Another flatbed carried musicians from the Americana Music
Academy.
At the corners of a tarp, human tent poles tried to protect
the instruments.
I heard fiddle music but couldn’t see a fiddler as they all
crowded together.
A few blocks from my warm and dry house,
I came upon the end of the parade
still waiting to begin.
Have I mentioned anything of more consequence than the
weather?
It depends on who you ask.
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