The promise of snow

I pray that it doesn't snow
even as the temperature plummets
 and the threat of a freeze hovers temptingly in The air.
I huddle in my poorly heated apartment
and I hope the  weather forecasters are wrong, misguided,
 as they have been many times before
when they have promised sun and summers
 and all those other things Ireland never sees.

I don't dream of snow days and snow men
 as I remember only too well snow turns to slush
, a cold, wet mush that coats everything.
 It seeps into your bones
until all you feel is cold.

Live as I have lived and
 you too will remember no great adventures
 only the Inconviences of snow.
I dream of buses stopped ,
 of roads closed ,
of bums bruised and
 foot wear made obsolete .
 I dream of seeing my breath above me in the bed spiralling into clouds of smoke
And making me fear dipping my toes into the unwelcoming air.
I dream of being stranded here as days off pass by and
I grow lazy and discontent with no training
and I fear I will turn to chocolate for comfort
and my muscles will grow slack and all that fat I'd burned will
Slowly creep back onto my bones padding me until I resemble an inflated
Version of myself.
I dream of many things but I do not dream
Of snow