Words in the winter wind

Two men I have loved all my adult life are two men I will never meet.
The first of these is a love I learnt of from my first real love. He sent me a poem which made me both cry and smile and which, even now, after hundrends (if not thousands) of reads, I still discover anew each time:

Anyone Lived in a Pretty How Town
(E. E. Cummings)
anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did


Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain


children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more


when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her


someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream


stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)


one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was


all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.


Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

The second is a man I discovered accidentally, flipping idly through a library book in a thirteen-year-old angsty haze. He was simple and yet profound. The way we often forget life is:

 Winter Trees
 (William Carlos Williams)
All the complicated details
of the attiring and
the disattiring are completed!
A liquid moon
moves gently among
the long branches.
Thus having prepared their buds
against a sure winter
the wise trees
stand sleeping in the cold.




The Red Wheelbarrow
(William Carlos Williams)
so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

*Poems courtesy of FamousPoetsandPoems.com

Spooning

I'm sick. I have some kind of flu. Usually when I get a flu I wait it out and let it get better on its own, which inevitably leads to a trip to the doctor two weeks in and an endless round of medications and return visits. This time I figured I'd be good and catch it at the start, so off I trot to the doctor expecting a pat on the back for being so health conscious. Instead she tells me I'm not sick enough. Not sick enough! So I trudge home and deal with it by downing panadol at every opportunity and emptying tissue boxes with rapid succession. And still I feel sick and miserable.
The miserableness comes less from being sick, and much more from just being cold. Winter is settling in slowly, and as it does the nights become less and less comfortable. I hate winter. Well, not completely. I love winter clothing - patterned stockings, soft scarves, beautiful leather gloves, and lovely jackets. But the cold wind, the dry air, the dark mornings and early sunsets? Yuck.
For me the worst part is going to bed. I hate having to get into a cold bed and lie, shivering, by myself while it warms up. I love having a warm body to snuggle into, to wake up with warm breath on my shoulder. For me, winter is the time when being single means being alone the most. It's the time when I pine for a someone to steal covers from, to keep me awake with their snoring, and to huddle with under the covers giggling about the silly things that happened in each other's days. Winter is the time when, more than anything, I want this:

Picture ripped from a bedding catalogue via Google Images. Was looking for a fantastic artwork but nobody seems to like spooning as much as me.