February 14, 2017

front porch in winter

Months ago, we leaned back with our cocktails into the long coattails
of evening. Hours were spent in a floating pool of conversation, our limbs
at languorous angles. Now, we rush past this interstitial real estate,
hurrying to put distance between us and the weather outside, then make
a beeline for whatever will think will keep us warm. "Close the door!" we bark
at the boys in their absent-minded exits, as a draft tunnels in. The season
keeps intruding - the rattle of radiators, a cluttered trail of tissues,
the ragged seam of headlines splitting our attentions. And yet, there is
always a room trouble won't touch, the cushions perennially soft,
and the windows so clear the horizon feels just inches away.