Winter, Collegeville
Winter, Collegeville.
Cold. So cold the old radiator can’t keep up.
There's a thick layer of ice on the windows.
Your breath feels like it might freeze in your lungs.
Whiteouts, too. Eight hours only of weak
sunlight. Black ice. Scraping the car windows
every morning. Running the car for fifteen minutes
before you can begin to coax it from its parking space.
But, also, stars so numberless and bright they’re painful. The Northern Lights.
Sledding, snowshoeing, cross-country skiing. Deep breaths of air
so clear it feels like the first breath you’ve ever taken. Soup and
crusty bread shared among friends. Ice-skating. Scarves and mittens.
Mulled wine. Hot tea. December 22nd. Your claw-footed bathtub.
And always, the hope for April’s first rainstorm singing down the windows.
Revealing the many small green growing things, just waiting out the winter.
