Winter Poem: Chicago Winter (12-15-11)

           Snowflakes cascade from the sky in millions, latching on to outdoor Christmas decorations like a baby monkey clings to her mother, as well as on the ground, forming a military that can only be surmounted by the sun in its bright glory. Lights in a plethora of hues are strewn across the dark city, icicles are glued to people's noses, the brutal wind penetrates the pores, rendering them useless. The cold temperatures send sharp knife-like spikes into the human body, carving it into a sculpture resembling a hunk of Swiss cheese, delicate and riddled with dozens of holes. The days flee in seemingly infinitesimal seconds, while the nights stretch on as the moors of England do, endless and dreary. Incessant sneezes and coughs chase each other in rapid succession without apology, stumbling after each other like tired schoolchildren. Blowing noses, "bless you," and "wash your hands!" add more noise to the chorus. Throngs of feet clad in Ugg boots rush to their destinations, bulldozing anyone crossing their paths-these people are the epitome of a perfect juggernaut. Shopping bags hang on people's arms like decorations on a Christmas tree. Stores are bombarded by people jousting for pieces of cheap plastic. Any breaths in the frosty air convert to an odd smoke that hangs above one's head, never quite leaving. Slush covers the street in a dirty gray blanket, concealing the new black pavement. Snow plows are out in force; protecting the world against the horrors of deep snow. Scarves are wrapped around the faces of passerby, which are therefore inscrutable.  But one cannot deny the agate blue sky witnessed in the fleeting day, the euphoria of receiving Christmas presents, the cavorting that comes with a snowball fight, the triumphant feeling of braving a blizzard, and of course, basking in your well heated home, awaiting the long winter days to come. But all things must come to an end, even Chicago winters.