Tomorrow (Friday) Hogan and Jones will be at Greenberrys for the Friday morning run.  Don't know the proper comm channel for Friday runs, but want to see if anyone else was interested.  Looking to get in a few miles on Friday before the snowfall.  See you there.  Michael Hogan

If you have a literary bent, much poetry has been written about snow, winter, and cold, so let not winter's ragged hand deface in thee thy summer. Winter's vivid moments seem to distinguish themselves abruptly with blasts of cold and blankets of snow. Just getting around involves complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring. Leaving the other allusions buried here for bored paleologists, I've attached a poem by Wallace Stevens that may come to mind on Saturday when we notice how those wise trees stand sleeping in the cold, and under the small fire of winter stars we tell ourselves what we know. . . .

The Snow Man

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.