Sitting on a bench,

Staring at the orange sky,

Took me back to days, …

When life-signs,

Make little sense,

I try, …

Late summer mornings,

When we walked around,

Thanked the trees, …

I used to believe,

The need to build oneself,

Brick by brick. …

Those old steps,

I once ago climbed,

Will always be with me, …

Frozen fields,

The vast blue sky,

Or a solitary cloud, …

It is there,

Among the frozen trees,

Where dormant dreams, …

Even the smallest,

Of places in this world,

Can be warmly made, …

When iron rusts,

And the coating peels,

It makes me wonder, …

A blanket of snow,

Under the trees.

The frozen ground, …

And quietly,

In a corner he sat,

No longer shiny, …

Thoughts,

Come and go.

But words, …

When the world,

Feels icy cold,

I often ask, …

Only later,

Looking back,

Did he realize, …

The ice-covered,

Hardened ground,

Too will melt. …

It is there,

In the cold,

Icy shadows, …

To awaken with a smile,

On New Year’s Day,

At peace, …

The years,

Like daylight fade.

And as the sun sets, …

It is the scars,

Discarded on the ground,

That I need to find, …

On rare,

Sunny winter days,

When ice on trees, …