AS MILD AS IT GETS

Cold morning water on the skin.

An intermittent fridge. Harder

each year to recall those far Decembers.

They froze for sure, our toes tingled

when we cracked through puddles; every second

window had an inside film of ice;

each walk to the shop, brisk and hunched.

But there was none of this impatience

for softer days. Take a look out - what

more could you want from the solstice?

This is as good, as mild as it gets,

fine rain dissolving mist, no breath of wind.

And it could be as good here too, if your mind

were still and bare as these whitethorn branches.