The stores all do it, so why can’t I? I offer you this winter poem, well ahead of its appropriate time.
The creek in front of the house ran
for the first time this season.
Through rain soaked earth, spongy and verdant
whispered a cool trickle of winter.
We visit, standing at the edge.
You point with your finger
warm and thick as cookie dough
and run to the next vantage point.
And I want to gather you up
and breathe you in
instead of watching you run
feet flying, freely and untroubled
into your next year.