My Fingertips Are Warm

A midnight walkabout

In the snow abounding

Barely a soul in sight 

Wet, heavy accumulation

Sound dampened 

To utter silence 

Save for falling matter 

Tapping my jacket’s hood

I made a lone snow angel 

In the middle of a park

For I was a lone snow angel 

In the middle of a park 

I listen so so closely 

To the sounds of nothing

Though with each step

My boots compact the snow beneath 

*crunch* *crunch* *crunch*

Once an angel, now 

Captain Crunch

I swing on swings 

And slide down slides 

Such simplicity 

Nouns and verbs are the same 

On playgrounds

All is quiet

It is eerie 

And It is lovely

I step out of my aging 

Old man self

And into Benjamin Button

For I am as ever young

As I choose to be

I walk and walk

Next to the empty creek bed

Through the tree tunnel 

By the weeping willow

Where A sweet smoke fills my nostrils

Acute awareness prevails

In idealistic conditions 

My fingertips are warm

Which is wildly unusual

I carry on in silence

My thoughts are my rhythm

Loud, though not clear

I remember things 

I had forgotten

There is a strange paradox 

Of sadness and yet a joy

To experiencing life’s magic

All by one’s own

I comfort my child self

And return home

To my adult existence