it will never snow. i like to look at old photographs of los angeles: white drifts at sunset & la brea, the storybook peaked roof of charlie chaplin’s studios covered in downy white. even the hail in west l.a. recently seems like a myth to me. so far away on the television screen. the sky lately has been burdened by clouds, clouds with dark upset bellies that resist spilling rain. no rain, no sloppy galoshes & sluicing streets, no bright red umbrellas & hot chocolate lunch breaks. i wear my scarf to work everyday, looped twice around my neck & down my back. some days it is too hot for winter wear & my soft green angora mittens get pushed down to the bottom of my purse.

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