Winter Three Ways

It was cold last night, and D and I supped at Lodge, which was warm and friendly as a mug of cocoa with friend-shaped marshmallows. (The spot, on Grand and Havemeyer, shares owners with Urban Rustic.) The daily printed vegetarian card had several nice options, including house-made seitan, which only suffered from a bit too much oil in the accompanying greens. D's supper (viva la France!) was a classic salmon with spinach and lentils. The waiter was rad (a California boy lost in the faux Adirondaks?) and D did his Paula Dean impersonation toward the end of the evening, which was, with laughter, better than dessert.

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Down Low
by A.R. Ammons

Snowstorms high-traveling,
furry clouds blur over
our zero air:
wind steams (or
smokes) fine snow
off the eaves, settled ghosts
trailing up and away:
the pheasant, too cold to
peck, stands on one foot
like a stiff weed.

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