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When chill of winter comes amidst the autumn air, with months ahead to bear, the north wind blows. The lake, abandoned, both by fools and wiser men they spurn the open when the north wind blows. The climate's cold decline has yet to be complete, with snow about to greet, the north wind blows. Devoid of human touch, abyss derides the shore, and always, as before, the north wind blows. Now winter does emerge, a blizzard in mid-course, with horizontal force, the north wind blows. The roads and towns are closed for dangers of the cold, as storms of ice unfold, the north wind blows. A lessening occurs, a warming trend remains, still everyone complains, the north wind blows. Once spring has come at last, it's soon to be outdone, yes, even in the sun, the north wind blows. 
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The months of work, my project done, the big account at long last won, my wife resolved we'd have some fun, like she had dreamed. Before it even had begun, I kicked and screamed The last thing on my burdened mind was flying in a plane, confined; while tasks were getting more behind, I wouldn't rest. But though I madly fussed and whined, I acquiesced. Surprised, I did relax one day, engaged in monuments to play, concerns lost in a Greek soiree, I was reposed, the Eiffel replica's cafe was never closed. The firm endured without me there, my ego checked, I'm now aware that workaholics can repair their one-track lives. A foliage outing we'll prepare as Fall arrives. 
As jobs are lost to angry picket lines, and daily news describes a world in flux, we need distraction, crashing cars and trucks, romantic heroes sipping sparkling wines, car chases in dark alley's tight confines, or spies so debonair in formal tux. As fantasies reveal the stories' crux we can forget as circumstance declines. Not every hall suspends reality- The Warren is the cinematic site where comfort and plush hospitality let couples cuddle close in flickered light. While viewers watch with human frailty, escape becomes a necessary rite. 
Crisp contrast and blurry edges, black and white and shades of gray, colors sharp like well-trimmed hedges, will I be mystified today? Personalities abound, skipping, laughing, angry tones, a missing letter I have found, and history will not condone. Stuffing, pushing, store away, never to be thought or spent, another hazy, vivid day shouts out for me and where I went. 
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AuthorJack has published over 350 poems in his career, many with his own photography. He specializes in a view of the commonplace and Americana. Archives
November 2020
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