The frugal rays of winter’s sun, sifted through the trees,
seem to have lost their power. They can’t dispel the freeze.
We watch the speckled darkness to try to find a sign
that promises the advent of a weather more benign.
The purity of winter, frigid and refined,
is melted in the heat of a summer sort of mind.
We stretch out on the beaches of our memory,
viewing with our minds that baked futurity.
Wound up in our mufflers, sealed snuggly in our gloves,
we sit on benches in the park, recalling summer loves.