Saturday

Winter Day, Neither Deep Nor Dark



We've got squalls.  We've got sidewinder winds.  We've got snow turning the sky to white in one moment followed by flakes so small it takes a squint to find them in the next. We've got hot cups of tea, burnt toast with butter on a table crowned with fresh lilies.  We've got a potbellied wood-burning stove. We've got music on the internet radio. We've got books of poetry.  We've got comfortable chairs in which to sit and read that poetry. We've got cats.

We've got an ordinary winter morning season-bound to repeat itself.  All the same, this particular winter morning will never be seen again.   My particular self this January morning?  The same. Yours?