Winterlust

Winter's here:

chapped lips, ice-skating,

steaming lemon tea

sipped by the window.

I look out

at the crisp blue sky,

at the bare sunlit

fields and trees,

at the laughing children

bundled beyond recognition.

And now I understand.

Winter doesn't come

wearing gloom or sadness;

it enters naked,

an unadorned snowman

waiting to be clothed

with whatever we can muster:

a carrot, a top hat, a scarf,

a wool sweater embroidered

with the word: WELCOME!

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