Yes, there are colder places on this planet with more extreme winter conditions right now. But let me just say as I don my weatherman’s hat from the greater New York City area… it’s been a brutal winter. 

Blizzard. Ice. Single-digit temperatures. Yeah, lots of fun.

I like to say it’s been “wicked cold.”

That line harkens back to a past life when I lived up in the Boston area and just about every winter was brutal. “Wicked cold” was simply… winter. 

But I’ve softened considerably across years of experiencing coastal Connecticut’s gentler winters. And now, it’s been something of a rude (re)awakening.

I will say, however, that shoveling all the snow hasn’t been quite as difficult. Why is that? Well, we’ve got the power of a high school sophomore on our team. And that’s made a huge difference. #TeamLester #grateful.

Power Up

I’m also grateful that we haven’t lost power across these winter storms. Sure, I charge everything up, including my portable power banks. But… as we all know, without a full generator back-up system, portable power banks will only cover you for so long.

Plus, I know we’ve got an exit strategy. #thankstofriends

Wicked Fun

But here’s the really good news. Wicked cold doesn’t necessarily have to mean wicked bad. Winter can be wicked fun.

• Plus, I’ll always take the bite of brisk over summer humidity.
• A fire in the winter fireplace is always a special experience.
• And I’ve got admit, there’s a certain satisfaction that comes with surviving a certain amount of adversity.

And suddenly, spring is right around the corner.

Hello Spring?

Yes, it’s early, but I hope we’re close to that tipping point. Not to predict, but I see early signs beneath the retreating snow line.

And to celebrate this pending seasonal shift, I present to you yet another
Barrett poem.*

Ode to the Fading Winter

My weatherman’s hat is placed on my head, 
To report on single digits I dread. 
From cold New Yorks streets to the Norwalk shore, 
It’s wicked cold, like Boston days of yore. 
Though I’ve softened in the years in between, 
This brutal frost is a rude, chilly scene.

The shovel goes fast, I’m happy to say, 
With my high schooler’s strength to lead the way. 
Go #TeamLester! We have strength in the snow, 
Using three shovels and stacked in a row.
With an exit plan and friends close at hand, 
We’re weathering storms across frozen land.

But wicked cold days can be wicked fun, 
More than humidity and summer sun. 
Fire in the hearth and pride in the soul, 
When you’ve survived the freeze and reached your goal. 
The struggle stings, but the win is so sweet, 
As we clear ice and the slush on the street.

Now snow retreats and the sun starts to climb, 
We’ve reached the tipping point, it’s about time! 
The signs of the green are starting to show, 
Peeking from patches of melting white snow. 
Goodbye to the ice and winter’s sharp sting, 
I’m ready to say a “Hello” to spring.

*Editor’s note: I prompted the videos and structure of this poem into existence using a little GenAI assistance via Google Gemini and Flow. Thank you!
(My ice photos are still the real deal.)