winter's killed, or winter's kills, or winter's ills survived via winter skills
so naturally i find it fitting to finally put this long* winter** to bed by writing this brief entry while sipping on the second*** of two bottles of samuel adams winter lager which were given to me by my sister-in-law, leonora****, as a stocking stuffer at the annual christmas morning gathering at the queen mother's*^. there is still a nice layer of snow an apple or two high on the portion of our deck (i call it our balcony) that doesn't get much sun, just outside the thick glass of the door and windows separating me from the outside as i sit in my little corner office kingdom scant feet away. but the temperatures tomorrow will top out at that milestone number of fifty and will surely obliterate those last remnants and the uppermost of days to come will seldom dip below 47. spring sprung free at last.
* phil, as ever, prophesies aright (one wishes he could provide more than a simple yea or nay, but we know in part, and we prophesy in part, i oughtn't need reminded)
** i call it winter, though it pales before that which fell upon new england and several other colonies
*** the first bottle consumed joyfully in the company of many and the company of what little snow one had to satisfy oneself with this christmas day (in our little town)
**** to coin a pseudonym i feel will have lasting utility