Winter's a time for philosophy,
When deep snow covers what we love
We make up stories to convince ourselves
That nothing we care about matters that much.
Or we feed our hopes with memories,
Warming ourselves around that woodstove,
As if keeping those fires alive
Keeps the things we love closer
Even as they become more distant,
Or keeps us ready for their return,
Though they are never coming back.
We dance, waving our arms frantically
In the smoke, playing games in the snow,
Keeping things alive in our minds
As if memory brought them nearer.
Pictures on shelves
(Showing how it was for us)
Sit and gather dust.
We bathe in happy memories
And try to look ahead,
Hoping for summer again.