I see the golden leaves
fluttering in frozen wind,
I feel an empty sky,
the circumference of joy is hard to find.
I catch the cardinal’s red flash
under scattered bits of sun,
I know the cracking cold,
come cold winter, come.
The air is filled
with flashes of sun,
like it broke into bits
and the wind now blows it apart,
all these separate pieces, everywhere.
Countless more flecks of sun spin
through everything, too small to see,
hidden in the depths of us,
of creation, the depths of everywhere,
everything water in every form.
We bounce around the side roads to home
over ridges of frozen slushed snow,
see our frontyard snowmen smiling:
welcome sun, above, below, within, without;
temperatures change, miracles abound.
When the night comes and wind
swirls past the windows, our little ones roar
and rail against bedtime. Darkly
they sulk off to brush their teeth, blowing
sighs through their lips, miserable like winter’s
cloud-covered sky, empty like its bare
landscape. The day’s done in a snap,
the crack of snowman’s brittle twig, his limbs
twisted and crooked, pointing across
the yard to nowhere. Finally they settle,
and we wish them dreams of spring’s
warm happy sun and summer’s green garden path.