Standing like tanks on the brow of the hill
Up into the cold wind facing
In stiff battle harness, chained to the world
Against the low sun racing
Bring me a wheel of oaken wood
A rein of polished leather
A Heavy Horse and a tumbling sky
Brewing heavy weather.
- tull

 Yeah, I gotta run out the door.  Just thinking of summer and a sea kayak on the water. . .
It’s snowing again.