The gusts of snow make me feel like I know.

I spend each sunny day planning my escape,

only to be frozen in time come December.

I forget— that it’s hard to remember when things are warm,

how easy it is to be disarmed.

Suddenly,

overnight,

and all at once -

My rose-colored glasses drop as quickly as the pressure in my tires.

The layers of delusion burn then drop, leaving me drier.

My commute lengthens with the shortening of the days

and I begin to chastise the voice that told me to stay.

Then, the snow comes.

I’m surprised, but quickly adjust.

I was raised here, and was taught to trust.

Trust and gratitude, that’s the mindset of necessity here.

While the annual evaluation of my fortune rolls in with the New Year:

Where am I from, where have I been, and what have I seen?

What is important, and what does it mean?

Warmth is essential, lest I forget;

Each birthday I spend in a bit of a fit;

Thinking of those who are not warm—

Aren’t they just as important as the new World War?!

For its in these days we remember the trouble at home—

when our lives are enveloped in a ruthless dome.

We’re suddenly vulnerable and not in control,

stricken with the reminder that life takes its toll.

When there’s only darkness, quiet, and nature’s will,

our minds and bodies are forced to be still.

And so I sit up at night by my window sill…

Watching, waiting, and witnessing the divine plan,

while I’m caught in limbo, cold-calling the Sandman.

Do I be still or do I grow?

Put time into rest or into my sideshow?

Is there room to do both or would that just be taxing?

Is there an order I should follow, like waning and waxing?

“You can’t be fully still. Move your body.”

Go for a walk, find a new hobby.

I do all the things, each and every day

Sitting in red light, buying myself bouquets…