Remembering a poem that I wrote in 2009, of a colder winter than this year, I illustrated the poem with my impression of an icing of snowy words lighting my view of a purple night.
Each of my seventy years of life have been marked by others' fearful whispers, "The climate is changing, the climate is changing, somebody save us, the climate is changing." It seems to me that climate is simply variable. It seems more likely to me that the next killer asteroid is sooner likely to wipe us out than climate change.
My garden in dark night winter sleeps,
Twinkling city lights over all,
The snow is deep.
Caption: My Garden In Dark Night Winter Sleeps
by Annmarie Throckmorton in November 2009