i.
The air has turned cold,
and I can see my breath rise
in steamy mist as I release it.
My wool cap is pulled down
over my ears, and my nose
and cheeks are pink.
They say it will snow later,
and already I imagine the
pinging feel of flakes as
they hit my nose.
I wish I was a child again.
ii.
I hurry from my car into
the house, to avoid a
blustery wind, so chilling
to older bones.
I remember when I loved
this time of year; How I
would rush out to play
in the first snow.
We would build snow forts
or igloos, and I recall being
so cold, my fingers throbbed
from my soggy gloves freezing,
and how ice crystals formed
on their tips.
iii.
I remember coming in from the
cold, taking off my boots and
shoes, and putting my sock-
clad feet on our kitchen
radiator to warm them
while I drank hot cocoa with
marshmallows.
Where did those innocent
days go? There must be a place
they are stored where they can
be rekindled at whim.
iv.
My vegetable soup has simmered
on the stove all day, and I
ladle it into waiting bowls.
There are thick crusty slices
of Italian bread from the bakery,
and warm bread pudding
for dessert.
My mother served this same meal,
and I've kept it in the scrapbook
of my mind.
vi.
The snowfall has begun, and
the flakes dance crazily as
wind blows them hard
against my window.
I stand like a child, with my
face pressed to the glass,
watching their beauty as they
shimmer in the glowing street
lamp.
When I was little, I would
watch that light every night
to see if I could catch a glimpse
of new snow.
I remember how Christmas
seemed so much better
with its presence.
vii.
I take my grandson to iceskate at
a rink near our home. I remember
skating on the pond at a friend's
farm years ago, and how we would
skate there after school until
the sun went down.
I still hear the sound of cracking
ice, and now realize how lucky
we were we didn't drown.
Rinks are nice; warm for grandmas,
and safe for adventuresome
little boys.
viii.
Soon it will be spring, and I will
be looking for the first crocus
in my yard. They blossom like
sweet promises of warmer
days, sometimes through snow.
I am always glad to see spring.
I somehow feel I've been given
another year to bloom.
copyright September 2002
Judith Anne Labriola
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