I sit outside
two days from solstice,
breathe in, out, see puffs of breath,
remember being a kid.
We built snow castles,
never felt cold hands or feet,
just the pure joy of fresh air.

In the giant hemlock that guards our yard
chickadees fluff feathers, prepare for sleep.
I wish I could keep my door open, invite them in,
cast birdseed on the rug.

At night I envision fairy tale forests
where birds alight on a young woman’s hand,
tell stories of life in the sky,
how snow is born,
where dreams go.


© by Jan Chronister.
Used with the author’s permission.