How warm the fires would seem on those cold February nights. Snow falling quiet, white, pristine, while we stare into the the flame and tell each other the stories of our lives. When the time is right we retreat into the bedroom and snuggle closely under warm, wool blankets and wonder aloud how life could be any more splendid. Yes, I will move to Aspen in the morning.
The fire is dying
my lamp is growing dim
shades of night are lifting
morning light steals across my window pane
where webs of snow are drifting.
If I could only have you near
to breathe a sigh or two
I would be happy
just to hold the hands I love
on this winters night with you.