By Marilyn Nelson Nielsen

We are never surprised about the weather anymore
Although, heaven knows, we are often wrong.
The weekly Highs and Lows parade themselves,
Prancing smugly across our eardrums
Or sashaying through the emphatic lips
Of their fawning prophets, the InfoGraphics.
They drape themselves, unashamed,

Along our consciousness, till they have robbed us
Of even that most basic joy: waking up
To sudden silence, light behind the eyelids:
The unexpected resonance of snow.
Or the delight of wind, first sensed damply in the lungs,
Flashing green and unknown
Over the promise of a warm evening.
Instead, the stubborn tyranny of percentages
And the inevitable let-down of the foreseen.
We crawl from known to sheltered known,
Holding our tiny umbrellas above us,
Blinking our eyes against the improbable,
Facing the long dark tunnel of the expected,
Bright raindrops skating down our overcoats
With infuriating aimlessness.


About Marilyn Nelson Nielsen

Marilyn Nelson Nielson graduated from Brigham Young University with degrees in music and home economics, and a minor in English. As a pianist, she has performed throughout Utah, and currently accompanies the Utah Children’s Choir. She has also played percussion in the Timpanogos Chamber Orchestra. Her poetry and personal essays have appeared in Inscape, BYU Magazine, and BYU Studies. Marilyn lives in Utah with her husband, Sam, and their five children.

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