When Winter Became a Memory
Sometime in the latter half of the Third Millennium,
the atmosphere warmed so that snow no longer fell,
and ice formed only in man-made freezers.
There was no more skiing,
or ice skating on a pond.
Trips to tropical paradises
were no longer game show prizes,
for Scandinavia enjoyed endless summers.
Sweaters and socks had been replaced with
swimsuits and sandals,
and outdoor activity ceased
between the hours of ten till four.
Some would sleep then,
for the night would be cooler—
lit up like that particle of time
when a lightning bolt strikes,
illuminating the moon-dark.
Timeless was the ice cream cone,
now enjoyed indoors;
endless, the dawn of night chores.
The earth did not become a desert,
for as slowly as it had evolved
through human intervention,
it stopped via the same route.
The air did not so much stir as hovered,
like a hummingbird over hollyhocks.
The waters of the ocean were warm,
and stepping into the pulsing foam,
was like stepping into a lukewarm bubble bath.
The raw, masculine energy of the sun
fueled the livelihood of the planet’s inhabitants,
so that life did not cease,
for what was life without work?
Stables became comfortable places
for humans without homes to stay;
fireplaces had become hiding places.
Athletic stadiums had become like
for even the night was too warm for
such strenuous activity.
Mother Earth, like a woman in menopause,
was going through The Change,
but The Change would not last forever.
Solar energy was like the hormones,
regulating Her body—
a temple not of doom,
but a temple of hope for the future
of the nature