Mercurial Blurb, Sorta

 
   "Mercurial Blurb, Sorta"
   
   Better in Redlands, California--always, mostly, sometimes, I guess.  Still, a Yankee gets up in the morning being brutally cool--instead of immediately "knocking the chill off" by way of resisting the frosty hell of winter, he kinda/sorta embraces natural adaption.  It's just a frosty hell, not a bitterly cold one; nevertheless, the southern man cranks on the heat, gets in his comfy fuzz, and brews him some java for enjoying the weather-girl from downtown; on the contrary, the Yankee people, and I've had protracted time with some northern kin; anyway, leave it cold at first, adjusting to the northern Earth of it all, do too brew the coffee, using baby water with added minerals and no fluoride; next, light a Lucky with a sulfur-sparked match, never flicking their Bic to betray old school, and watch the main anchor man with no contempt; however, still talk to the television and call him a toots.  
   And then, Lee made his surrender @ Appomattox, but never forgotten in the crystal-clear chronicles of history.