Flying in Winter

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A flight of fancy takes wing in the northeast
as memories fade of year-end feasts;
shorter days darken and cold consumes
the spirit presaging wintertime gloom.

Leaves are raked and dispatched, hoses drained;
the house buttoned up against snow and rain;
occupants anticipate the season which looms,
stocking heavier wraps and none too soon.

The inner man, too, suffers the annual fate
when sunshine and natural warmth abate
and icy temperatures take a dismal toll,
clutching cold fingers at the soul.

Longings stir for far-off druthers,
seeking some existential others;
the mind flies where swim suits suffice,
welcome, and so superior to ice.

My daydream carpet and magical jinn
sweep me to beaches with sugary skin
and willowy palms bearing milky fruit
to slake my thirst and eat to boot.

A day of fun and sunshine realized
is capped with capture of a peace prize
of which I'm especially fond:
a languid soak in a thermal pond.