November Winter

The bad news is, when the temperature drops, our gravel township and county roads are likely to turn into skating rinks. The good news is, the temperature drop could lead to decent skating ice instead of the slushy crap we often end up with. Walking the dog this morning almost put me flat on my back a couple of times. I don't expect improved traction when the compacted snow refreezes. At least we don't have to worry about lake effect snow where we live and a snow covered sand plain prairie does have its beauty.

snow covered sand plain prairie

Photo by J. Harrington

If the weather forecast is in the ball park for later this week, please don't expect me to give thanks for a high temperature in the low teens on Thanksgiving Day. That will mean that, within less than a week's elapsed time, we will have gone from enjoying typical March weather (yesterday and today) back to mid-Winter weather. This looks like it could be a roller coaster Winter since the extended forecast mentions a longer warming trend the first week of December. That would at least make me thankful we aren't enjoying another extended Polar Vortex. Even though this is Minnesota, known for our "Up Northiness," I'm bothered that global warming seems to literally be occurring almost everywhere on the earth except here. Well, today needs to be a short posting. I have a letter to Santa to finish before

November Becomes the Sky With Suppers for the Dead

By Gordon Henry Jr. 

I am standing outside

in Minnesota

ghost wind recalling

names in winter mist

The road smells

of dogs two days dead

White photographers talk in

the house of mainstream

media

I can’t articulate

the agony of Eagle Singer’s

children to them.

We celebrate the old

man while another

generation shoots

crushed and heated

prescriptions

sells baskets,

machinery,

the fixtures yet to be

installed in the house,

yet to be heated

by the tribal government,

for another night

stolen by the stupors

and the wondrous

pleasure of forget

everything medicines.

Back inside

Uncle Two Dogs rolls me

a smoke out of

organic American Spirit

I look to a last cup

of coffee.

The way home

fills with snow

our tracks

human and machine.

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