Snowless Winter   It’s come to this: we snarl and shake our fists at heaven, we plead with the frigid gods of winter that we’re so sorry we pissed away that useless, doughy snow that thawed by Christmas — we wanted better, expected better, deserved better — this is Vermont, for God’s sake. Can we take up a collection or sacrifice a virgin — you want that? We’ll find one, somewhere. But please, enough with November already — hell, we’ve had it with November, sitting on our duffs, four months of November, we’ve got it bad, watching our skis rust, and we’re whining, or just waiting — beer and banjos on the porch.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont February 2012