Winter from the west wraps wastelands bordering the interstate in heavy shower's measured drum. The cycle has circled again, leaves quit the tree to quilt the ground again, then drops come to wash, to expose skin. I'm reminded of the blizzards howl across our yard’s broken umbrella, how she held my hand so tight we glowed a gas log's soul. Winter contracts to simpler terms, it seems to me, it closes down till cold elegance returns.
