Polar Vortex Cometh

 

C'est ici--another polar vortex.  The arctic chill deepens in this endless winter. 

 I look out and I see only gray.  I step out and I feel the icy grip like a vice on my bones. The ground is a hard tundra bereft of life.  The trees  are overgrown sticks raising agonized arms to the sky.

Usually by this point in February I'm beginning to take heart that we are most of the way through winter and I feel like we've mostly made it. But not this time

 There is no warmth of fires here. The firepit is a memory from another time. No glow from candles. All the wax has burned down.  Only the wan light of a sun that has abandoned us. 

The cups are empty. The voices hollow. All have gone away. The chill pervades all. The pall of winter 2025. A deranged old monster has tightened his grasp and won't let go.