On winter

Winter has come. The woods turned pink and then brown as the hills undressed behind Emily’s town. Sending all her birds away she contemplates living and dying- the common right of Toads and Men. Even as steely brooms of snow and wind sweep the empty streets.

Haunting the wintry streets of London Virginia retrieves an adventure. And a lead pencil. Even as she leaves behind footprints into the heart of the forest that is the mind of fellow beasts called men.

On a cold December morning Leonard writes an elegy, whispers a final hallelujah and leaves without signing his masterpiece. Even before one can ask who is calling.

While John sets out into the winter of our discontent as the fog closes Salinas valley from the rest of the world. Even as half obscured visions of Sweet Thursday with Mack and the boys persist.

And all the while I stand here, on this side of the Arno watching Primavera scatter flowers across the Tuscan hills. And they say winter has just begun.