Tourism Board: Buy This Poem (2-18-19)

Western states,
where winter is suggested,
but not mandatory.
Where the first sunny day,
following stormy weather,
awakens hopeful thoughts of spring to come.

Blessed and lucky we are,
to live in this arid,
shining west.
This landscape of dreams;
at least until the water runs out.

These crisp sunshine days of winter,
a mockery of Wisconsinite brutality,
a denial of New England blizzards,
when donning shorts and flip-flops,
in late February,
induces smiles,
because it feels so good.
And let's face it,
it is somehow,
ridiculous,
to wear shorts and flip-flops in February,
even in the west.

Western winters have their rare,
unicorn-like,
moments.
The occasional hard freeze on the desert floor,
snow (once a decade) in Las Vegas,
or perhaps,
three WHOLE days of rain in Greater L.A.
Unthinkable!
But it happens.
Sometimes.

Winter of the west.
Keep a coat handy,
or at least a hoody.

Be ready to indulge your inner farmer,
at a moment's notice,
when you will feel compelled to dig the earth,
plant vibrant flowers,
play God.
Maybe,
like us,
you plant a little cactus,
or daffodils,
that remind you of home.

Rejoice in the blissful February sunshine,
soak up the tender warmth that disappears,
so quickly,
when the shade falls across your brow.
Days like these,
are what sell little plots of land,
on the outskirts of Phoenix,
or Tucson,
or Palm Springs,
or even Sacramento,
where snowbirds go on the lam,
hiding out from eternal midwestern winters.
How can we blame them?
We know what a gift we have,
even if we forget sometimes to enjoy it.
We take it for granted,
until days like this.

Sure,
we're a bit smug about winter out here,
where experiencing snow is a choice,
seen mostly on distant rugged ranges,
like powdered donuts.
Sunny days like this,
in February,
you feel like a kid again,
bubbling with happy wonder.
These are days that inspire.
They are days that are nearly perfect.

Elsewhere,
we know,
the grim grip of winter holds fast and long.
The bitter winds,
the snowy drifts,
snuff out hope.
These are days to cherish.
For we know,
that the oppressive boot of summer will arrive in due time,
and our backs will be dripping with sweat.
Now though,
with these hints of spring,
with this sweet breeze,
with this radiant sunshine,
this winter of the west seems mythical,
an impossible fiction,
but it's not.

A joke!
snarling Bostonians exclaim,
dismissing western winters,
where valleys are already verdant and alive.
The laughter rings out,
not from those huddled 'round a Franklin stove,
not from some hermetically,
defiantly,
expertly sealed suburban Cleveland home.

No!
That laughter is mine,
and it emanates from the patio,
out there in the yard,
out in the February sun.

2-18-19