To every thing, swish, swish, swish
There is a season, clang, clang, clang
And a time to every purpose under Heaven.
As even the memory of the sweet swish of spring street-sweepers fades, the all-too-present clang of a truck-mounted blade hitting the driveway filters through the windows, closed and double-glazed against the cold as they are. Oh, hurray, it’s winter. Again.
A time to sweep up, a time to cast down
A time for salt, a time for sand
A time that you may just freeze
A time to refrain from dagnabbed freezing.
OK, this business of writing classic song lyrics is harder than it looks. Winter is also harder, somehow, in the doing than in the remembering.
A time to stay, a time to leave
A time to rain, a time to s(n)ow
A time for cold, a time I hate
A time for warmth, I hope it’s not too late.
As John Benn says, “The supply of Ottawa winter exceeds the demand.” This is not a problem the market’s price mechanism can solve. Neither can government intervention: It takes individual initiative. Or in a few cases, coordinated group action . . .
One in determination:
good sense in a vee.