Winter breeds patience out of desperation.
There is no instant gratification
When the snow plow buries you alive
And your only connection with the world
Comes in form of internet social networks
And high definition reality on ESPEN and the Travel Channel.
Realize (and remind yourself) this is a hermit's paradise;
All the one way talk you need
Without having to worry you're being judged
On how long it's been since you had a hair cut,
Or on whether you've taken a bath lately.
Snow outside made perfect by the thin layer of ice
Versus the dichotomous dirty snow left behind
By the shovel and the plow and the boot.
Look forward to Christmas, not for the gifts,
But because Solstice means
The days will get longer and the snow
Will gradually melt away, leaving behind
Something resembling Patience
Mingled with the hope
You have not yet dared to name
Or even appear to recognize.