Your post about winter's potential longevity made me laugh and then I cried. I laughed because of the piquant coincidence of reading about Willie's prognostication after waking up from a dream where I was walking along a tree-lined street while thinking that it was such an amazingly perfect day, not too cold, not too hot, not too humid ... an absolutely perfect July day. I didn't mind the long route that unfolded ahead of me. I nimbly negotiated obstacles with the adept footwork of youth and the miles just melted away.
Then I suddenly woke up ... it wasn't July, it is mid-winter, it is dismal, my back hurts, my ankles don't feature wings. I knew enough not to look into a mirror. What a great dream! What a lousy reality. Then I turned on the CBC, a reflex really, and uttered a long guttural groan upon being reminded of Trump's tariffs. This will be a long winter with no warmth or comforting lightness of mind in the forecast. I cried because of the brutality of it all. Herbert Morrison said it all, ... Oh, the inhumanity.
