Winter Moonlight

moonlight1

The world wears its winter robe outside my window.

I tap my pointer finger against the windowpane.

I marvel at the season’s great gift to the world.

How can a boy of eight be expected to sleep through this?

 

My body is bundled against the brisk and frigid air.

I step softly into the snow, leaving a deep footprint.

I stare silently out at snow everywhere.

I smile and trudge down the snowy path.

 

I lay in the lawn alone.

My limbs swing back and forth to form an angel silhouette.

I lift my eyes to the sky of this snow-clouded night.

Painted pink and so playful, I sense it smile back.

 

Then I am roused by a loud crack.

I stand to see a man with a shovel and a glare.

Locks of his gray hair whip in the fierce gusts

As he shovels a path on our sidewalk.

 

I stand and go to him; he stops his work and turns.

He looks me in the eye and pats me on the head.

“Go inside, you’ll catch a chill.

You can play more in the morning.”

 

Without another word, he walks away but then he turns around.

I obey his command without a fight and return inside.

I enter without a sound, and set my boots down to dry.

I head upstairs to catch a final glimpse.

 

I walk to my window to see him cross the street.

He seems to vanish in a whipping snowy wind.

Confused and mystified, I crawl under my covers and try to sleep.

I ponder who this man could be until my mind begins to dream.

 

Sometimes I still think of him, on an icy winter night.

With my own son in my arms, I step outside and bask

In the glory of the snow as it cloaks everything.

His eyes aglow, now he too marvels at the winter moonlight.

By Jonathan Francesco

 

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