Winter

is the time not to hibernate
but stay indoors to catch up 
to learn the wise ones in the book,
to grow a less painful garden.

I stand in the window often,
eyes skipping, gliding, as the leaves
on the street frolic or fly, forgetting
everything, like the retirees.
My feet itch to go out,
as the brain flags restraint.

Why not start the ski lesson
given up long ago.
The brain shivers even to consider it;
the neck stiffens at the thought.

Just go for a short walk.
I bundle up with a coat and a scarf;
step into the dozing-deep snow in the sun,
and let the bossy Bailey lead the way. 

©Byung A. Fallgren