Every year at about this time — when all color has been blasted from the trees by the north winds, the days grow noticeably shorter and cooler, the precipitation alternates between not-quite-rain and almost-snow, and year’s end once again looms on the horizon — I think of poet Ezra Pound‘s famous cold-weather-cursing parody, “Ancient Music,” which begins, Winter… Continue reading Winter Beers Are Icummen In!