If we’re stuck inside with snow up to our doorbells
Would we learn to play nice?
I can be a recluse on any floor -
Buried deep in the basement’s cobweb corner
Into the arms of an evergreen gently tapping against windows, ushering us down & out.
The thin line of sunshine from an attic skylight
Reminding us that winter has stolen our passionate burn,  
Or could we sit by the fire, rubbing hands
Breathing into palms,
feeling warm, alive, at peace.
Building snowmen with twirling hands,
packing memories & stories so tightly
that they could never melt.
And as the fire builds
As the winter drips away,
Do we love the roof we’re under?
Do we need the light of day?