By madowoi

Marsh - First Snow

We could deny our winters, refuse to cut
our hands mining the sharp ores of grief.
Whenever the cold comes, we could follow

the arrowheads of geese shafting south
to an azure place where whales sing offshore
and otters frolic in the wanton surf.

We could grow soft as children in the arms
of leisure, but we might never learn in time
how to stoke the cold fire of the will

in that winter we cannot refuse, when we must glean
from the icy fields the last scattered grains
we once disdained, with only the luminous pallor

of the moon scarfed in clouds to light our way,
rising above the outstretched arms of the trees
in its long slow journey through the night.

Migratory Flight, by Fred Dings

A curious thing about this area is how many people leave before the weather gets cold. About 36% of the available housing is only occupied seasonally, and of that about 16% is strictly short term rentals. That's why over 50% of the people who work on the island don't live here, and over 78% of households are unable to afford a house in the median price range for their town. Even many "year round residents" leave for a few months come November.

We originally just came for the winter, renting out a seasonal residence for cheap. By May the place cost as much for a weekend as we had been paying for a month. 

For us, it's nicer to live here through the winter even though we could never afford to buy our own place. Who eats just the pie crust, but none of the filling? Or always listens to only half the song? I guess after intermission they go home and read the review in the paper to find out how the play ended. These poor people just don't know what they're missing!

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