This February

This is a few months late but...better late than never.

When the black fireplace almost burns every night,

the sweet-smelling smoke rising to the roof,

and the basketball hoop still stands to the side of the driveway,

half-buried in snow,

and the mysterious neighbor

who walks out only once a day for mail,

and never says hello,

and it is a perilous journey to get up the driveway,

steep and slick,

and your feet cringing as they touch the morning floor,

tiled and unforgiving,

you begin to wish the time away,

counting and counting,                                                                                                                             anticipating the heartening days that never seem to come.