Holding on to dreams?
 
Like trying to keep snowflakes
 
in my ungloved hands.

 
 
 

Night of the Snow Moon—
 
my old duvet is too thin
 
to ward off the chill.

 
 
 

In a cold attic
 
a little girl plays dress-up,
 
using mom’s old clothes.

 
 
 

February woes
 
arrive without a warning—
 
holes in my wool gloves.

 
 
 

By the falling snow
 
the little woodland voices
 
have been hushed for now.

 
 
 

Second-month surprise—
 
in the twinkling of an eye
 
wild geese fill the sky!

 
 
 

Last day of the month—
 
rain washes the grit and grime
 
from my neighbor’s roof.

 
 
 

The year that vanished
 
only a few weeks ago—
 
how close it still seems!

 
 
 

First weeks of the year—
 
I plan another journey,
 
knowing plans are vain.

 
 
 

Snow fell at midnight.
 
The waxing moon was hidden.
 
You forgot my name.