Simply Winter

I don’t dread five months of winter.
I wake to a cardinal’s whistle,
morning moon sliding behind clouds,
and snow on cherry branches.

I bend my aging back to pick up the stiff newspaper.
While I brew coffee in my enamel percolator,
Nat King Cole croons “Unforgettable”
from the turntable.

Throughout the day, crows and juncos
flit from oak to beech, icicles dazzle
from the eave. Snowdrifts melt, dark green
soaking through creating calligraphy.

I think of spring, transforming the poplar stump
into a fairy garden with gnomes, and
painting the weathered red birdhouse
for the finches’ and sparrows’ return.

Interrupting my daydreams –
rumbles and lightning captivate.
I don’t dread artful winter.

At dusk, there is calm, neighbors’ shadows
on the sidewalk, and dimly-lit houses.

Waves of wind warm me at night, propelling
the allegro movement of the terrace chime.

My aging hound with yellow teeth yawns wide.
I sit in my velvet armchair, lights out,
gazing at a slice of moon.
I don’t dread easy winter.