there is no snow surrounding us...just a chill that lingers

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cool crisp clean...a winters morn...dusty white...sparkling as dawn turns her hands to day


darkness...yet knowing light will come

warmth from a fire still faintly burning

the smell of coffee

the taste of licorice root tea

warm cozy maryjanes

the feel of wool wrapped around my fingers

wooden needles clicking

slowness sinking in

words from old friends near and far

spirits lifted 

comfort in the unknown


solitude slipping slowly away

William Powell once said:

"Cultivate solitude and quiet and a few sincere friends, rather than a mob merriment, noise and thousands of nodding acquaintances."