I was thinking about our maples and their winter nakedness and my recent birthday and my husband, love that man, and in my searching for a poem for today I found this. I love the last 3 lines. I can imagine the two of us there.
Painting winter’s captives
Bare trees sleep shimmering
Beneath ice and mist.
In the frigid air your breath scrolls
A pattern from gently spoken words
The cold wind has kissed.
We follow the Trail
Passed the sleeping orchard,
Recounting old stories
Like a well read book.
Your warm hand outstretched
To help steady my step
From faltering on
The frozen path we took.
The hour’s a guess, but it doesn’t matter.
So much to remember, too many years gone.
We’re like two bare trees,
Dusted white, and laughing,
Winter’s happy captives, content to walk on.
Tonight we’ll be having oatmeal cookies and a glass of milk to honor St. Brigid