A white silence lies
between us, an unshared
blanket on a cold night.
We come and go, making
our separate cups of tea
and retreat,
warming ourselves.
The wind has died down,
soft drifts pillow the house,
soften the hard edges
of winter.
A sullen sky lies heavy
over the valley,
dusk comes gentle and gray,
a benediction.
It has been a long winter,
uncommonly cold,
uncommonly harsh.
We bundle up against it
and venture forth,
hand in mittened hand,
looking toward Spring,
hoping for an
early thaw.
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