I will never complain of heat in the winter.
Later, as I left my warm cocoon, the still, cold air hit my face like a wall, and I entered the snowy world of Hoth. I was prepared in a warm winter jacket and gloves, but it still sharpened my senses and tightened my skin and cleared my nostrils with it's icy tendrils. I sat in my car in the half darkness, waiting for Violet to warm up enough so that I could see out the front window. I gazed out to the open, snow-covered fields to the west of me, their cold expanse inviting nothing but a quiet, solemn stare. All was still; the rumbling of the car engine and my foggy breath the only signs of life.
As I gazed towards the distant farmhouse and white pastures, I was reminded of a poem that I had copied down in my travel journal from a trip long ago. I had been looking up some info the other day that I had written down during my travels to Central America, and I passed by the poem that had caught my eye. I had been reading Steppenwolf, the novel by Hesse . . . a book that had not captured much interest for me, but one that had supplied a great poem.
The Wolf trots to and fro,
The world lies deep in snow,
The raven from the birch tree flies,
But nowhere a hare, nowhere a roe.
The roe--she is so dear, so sweet
If such a thing I might surprise
In my embrace, my teeth would meet,
What else is there beneath the skies?
The lovely creature I would so treasure,
And feast myself deep on her tender thigh,
I would drink of her red blood full measure,
Then howl till the night went by.
Even a hare I would not despise;
Sweet enough its warm flesh in the night.
Is everything to be denied
That could make life a little bright?
The hair on my brush is getting grey.
The sight is falling from my eyes.
Years ago my dear mate died.
And now I trot and dream of a roe.
I trot and dream of a hare.
I hear the wind of midnight howl.
I cool with snow my burning jowl,
And on the devil my wretched soul I bear.
I imagined a lone grey trotting along the periphery of the human landscape, still looking for his roe. I sympathised with the mirthless carnivore for a few minutes . . .
. . . then I cleaned my windshield, and got on the road to work. This wolf needed to get to work.
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