She kisses her children goodnight, and turns down the lights. The winter warmth has spread to the corners of the room, making it warm and fuzzy. She peeps out for one last time, before summer returns. The trees stand bare, naked branches waving goodbye. The nests have been abandoned again; empty they’ll weep and howl, pitching in a dark night. The mountain is knitting a delicate white blanket; she’ll be finished soon; it’s time to go sleep.
November 15, 2007
See you in the morning