Flying in Winter

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A flight of fancy
takes wing in the northeast when year--end feasts
are memories shining palely; skies darken, days shorten
more daily; dread of cold consumes in a blend presaging
wintertime gloom.

Leaves are raked
and hoses drained, the house buttoned up against snow
and rain. Occupants anticipate that snowfall looms
and don heavier garments for chillier rooms.

But it's the inner man
who suffers an annual fate as sunshine and natural warmth
abate; creeping shadows take their toll and clutch with cold
fingers at the soul.

Longings stir for far-off
druthers, seeking some existential others. To this end,
the mind flies around the bend, settling where swim suits
suffice--so superior to ice.

Vicarious urges rise to socialize with warm
ocean surges, where the sun reigns golden not gray.
And when it retires in its special way bids good day
with sublime coloring of cloud fringes to delicately frame
the flat line of the sea.

My magic dream carpet offers a ride to run down
fun on a bleached beach, its blonde hide rent with slim trees,
wind-bent, shedding hard-shelled milky fruit and fronds.
And after a day of sun to win a peace prize: a lugubrious
soak in a thermal pond.