as I look out
through the frost-speckled
window pane
I wonder
whence the frost
has come
and
what life
it holds
are there fairies
that dance inside
the lacy village
warmed by
an ice fire
that doesn’t melt their home
are there
fairy children
in fairy beds, sleeping
do they look out
their tiny ice windows
and watch me
through my
frozen window pane
seeing my day
and what
would they see
of my world
my cat
snuggled on
my lap
me under
a blanket
beneath the cat
pen
in hand
writing this poem
fairy lights
on my tree
become their porch lights
perhaps a friend or two
over for a visit
and music, always music
stirring something
on the stove
while something bakes in the oven
candle light
much of the time
and warmth
a fire in the
space-heater fireplace
that feels real enough to believe
contentment
joy, sadness
intermingled
laughter, too
sprinkled in
from time to time
amidst
the solitude
the contentment
they might even see
true joy
at times
when I’m writing
painting
being
but the depth
of grief and loss
is palpable
and at times
the fairies see it
for what it is
love
suspended
in the moments between
when
memories pull
and reel me in
in living the memories
comes true joy
delight
it is when the memories
leave all too soon
grief strikes hard
and so
I look
for the fairy frost
and dream
of their life
of whimsy and light
until
the frost of grief
melts again
and I can see
my own joy
in life’s reflection
