Lost In Winter

Lost in winter, I behold the white sky. An alabaster sun shines through a thick blanket of chalky clouds. Partial silhouettes of trees jut out of mist; a top here, one half of a redwood there, limb of an oak. A diminutive Japanese maple leaf hangs suspended in a spiderweb, nestled in a corner of fencing. Tiny arachnid Christmas star.

​Later, the clouds disperse, revealing the blue sky. Bright sun pours in through the windows. I turn off the heater, open the sliding glass door, and let in the fresh air. Splashes of crimson around dusk, then, after nightfall, rain falls hard. I can’t believe my ears. A roar of rain.

​After dinner, phone calls, and gifts exchanged, we assemble a paper garland of stars. The backs of the stars are painted gold. The fronts are multicolored, and we string them on purple ribbon, staying up too late, eating too many crackers and chocolates. At bedtime, I am clear on the month and day, but the year is slippery. It’s alright. I’m lost in winter.

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