’Twas the night before Christmas, and how cheerful the sight,
As the grid fed the glow of each home’s twinkling lights.
The meters spun softly, their telemetry flowed,
In hopes of no surge in the holiday load.
But the planners lay restless, awake in their beds,
While visions of queue requests danced in their heads.
And I cautiously turned, trying not to despair,
To the PJM forecast, for the solace found there.
Tag: Holiday
On the Grid We Depend
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the grid,
Not a relay was tripping, not even a bit.
The transformers hummed in steady refrain,
In hopes that no storm would disrupt the domain.
The linemen were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of conductors danced in their heads.
And dispatch at their consoles, and I at my screen,
Kept watch on the system — steadfast and keen.
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