Sometimes it's too hot to cook. Sometimes is it too cold to write a poem?

So what is the connection with weather & poetry?  I am wondering. & hopeful that the farmer's market will have an abundance of fennel for roasting.  Because it isn't too hot to turn on the oven.

While the bulbs roast, I will contemplate the proper heat necessary for a poem to be edible and feat on smoked trout. What will you be doing?