Cold embrace
of winter,
sharp and clear.
It livens me up.
Feels good to be out
,
but makes me retreat
way back into my coat’s
deep-pocketed warmth,
seeking protection
from the season’s icy grip.
At last: cold day
at dawn;
still world
and quarter-moon;
bare trees in
slimmest blue sky
at first light of day.
No sounds, and silence
as cold air sinks deeper
and harder to the ground.
Be kind, sun,
to the tiny birds who flit
from branch to branch
in two pin oaks
high above the bench
where I sit alone,
momentarily watching
with keen appreciation
these and other
winged creatures
braving the elements
as if winter were
just another
seasonal fact of life.
Today, this cold air is nice
and actually soothes
my numbed brow.
There are no people
around
to even slightly
distract me
from my thoughts
of other winter days
long past
in this old historic park
in all seasons,
where I
catch rays
of autumn insight
and notice spring’s delight
at showing off
the ancient tulip poplar
full of yellow, cupped flowers.
Imagine that:
A soaring tree in bloom!
In summer I wait till
until near dusk,
and venture out
to this same park
to listen for crickets
and the last of the cicadas
droning farewell to the day.
I’m still on the bench,
ready to leave,
but reluctant.
Not yet.
Sit a while longer.
I’ll talk a little more to you,
small inner voice
which keeps me company.
It’s only my thoughts.
Cold winter day
draws to a close
In the park.
Quick now.
I’m leaving.
These quiet
moments of isolation,
lost in idle reverie,
will pass through
time and vanish.
But as I get up now,
I’m taking a deep breath
of that really cold air
And quickly leaving
my thoughts behind.
They’ll be back soon enough.
This winter.
Written December 27, 1999
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