Climatic Insomnia

Where I come from the seasons,
Are reckoned by the calendar.
Beginning and ending,
On the solstices and the equinoxes.
In a place with little climatic variation,
This is necessary.
Things are a little different in Sweden.
Seasons are determined not by the calendar,
But by the climate.
Even after the winter solstice,
It’s not considered winter,
Until the temperature is at a certain degree or less,
For a certain length of time.
It more or less follows the tilting of the earth,
The passing of the solstices and equinoxes.
But not always.
We were just informed,
By the national weather service,
That it is now spring.
They never announced winter.
You always feel kind of cheated,
When the year skips a season.
Especially summertime.
But when you skip winter,
It leaves you feeling uneasy.
As if you’ve forgotten something.
That nagging feeling,
That something is not quite right.
And you didn’t get any sleep.
Because Mother Nature didn’t get any sleep.


Such a sweet and gentle name.
Visions of Grease and Sandra Dee.
But that Sandy is not to be.
Not this time round.
This time round she’s changed the game,
Kicking ass, and taking names,
These image changes guarantee,
You’ll no longer think of Sandra Dee,
Not that antithesis of a trollop,
But a big loud girl,
Who packs a wallop!

August in Scandinavia

Mid-August here in Scandinavia,
Summer clothes if you’re so bravie yeah!
Milk every last bit of northern sunshine,
Knowing winter might come at any time,
All bets are hedged; you just don’t know do you?
Sweaters on the strand, brollys ready too,
You might start in sun, then run for cover,
Or start in cloud, and then soon discover,
The day has turned, one way or the other,
It’s just so bloody hard to be prepared,
It gets to the point where each day you’re scared,
You could start it out, all sunny glowing,
But not be surprised if it starts snowing,
You might think that an exaggeration,
But that would be a complete negation,
Of all the times you were caught unawares,
Thought you were prepared for the weather’s dares,
But no matter how you tried to prepare,
You were soaked clear through, near frost in your hair,
They say here; no weather’s bad, just your clothes,
Well I’m here to say, I’m not one of those,
I can’t carry my wardrobe on my back,
I need a small clue each day when I pack,
Each day on TV weather people say,
Well, we’re not sure; it could go either way,
Leaving me to wonder, where I can find,
A job where I’m not right half of the time!

Resistance is Futile

With some assistance, in comes the river.
Right over the bank, with no resistance.
Blown by wind, it flows right in,
To the parking lot there. It doesn’t care,
If our stuff’s in the way, we have no say.
Nature goes where it wills, and in it fills.
As I watch I am thinking of how we’re so little.
Our greatness so brittle. Both old things and new.
Nature knocks it all down, pushes right through.