SIXTY DEGREES

In September,
when the living's been easy for months
and my arms have almost forgotten
the feel of long sleeves,
I suddenly realize that
each day is not just getting a little shorter,
but a little cooler.
90's. . .80's. . .mid 70's. . .
my sweet hot summer is slipping away.
In this mood,
I greet with resentment
the first damn day
that descends into the sixties.
I do not welcome the warning
that winter is waiting.
That things like snow and gloves
will soon spoil the party.
No, sixty degrees is not balmy.
Not gentle.
Not nice in any way.
But that was September.
Now it's February
and we're deep into the freeze,
resigned to heavy coats and
chapped lips and
runny eyes and
hats,
oh hateful hats.
In this mood,
I greet the arrival of sixty degrees
not with dismay
but appreciation.
Sixty is an invitation, a reprieve, a caress.
I open my coat, my body relaxes,
I actually smile.
Odd, I think,
this is the same sixty degrees
that felt so cold in September.


© Ellen Azorin