Yes, it's another cold morning in Milwaukee, and the wind isn't helping a bit. When it gets this cold, I help myself by reading a poem written by Wallace Stevens. I keep a copy of it in my wallet and take it out this time of year to remind myself that there is wonder in the cold, if one has the right sensibility (and a good hat).


The Snowman


One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;


And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter


Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,


Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place


For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.