The earth feels the small feet toddling
to the rambling yellow buses.
She sighs a crisp breath as
I hurry around the lake in a race
against winter�s rattling into my bones.
I note a small tree which
has relinquished its green pigments and
moisture to the gusty air.
In a few short weeks my comfort
will be the whirring of the dishwasher
after pot roast and my husband
couched in an afghan cocoon.
09/03
