There’s nowhere else I'd rather be,
than here breathing this frigid Michigan air.
A bitter misty exhale when breath's released free,
thrusting our souls out into a harsh smoky cold.
In the dismal December when the freezing rain is sleeting,
saunter a three-step stomp to clear boots of slushing ice.
The low lamplight, that plays as a fireplace,
spreads across my face with the blasting storms
beating against my windowpane.
I sit in somber, causally repeating a simple phrase we Michiganders, utter,
“This weather will change into something better. “
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