I wrote this a while ago, actually. But on a day like today–with the
snow falling in earnest, as if to make up for the days of thaw–it
somehow seems appropriate.

She, Lonely 

Not often, ever so rarely
little flakes from out her window
loft and settle, but just barely
on the icy panes.

There they rest— and peaceful
In the solace of her room
But she, lonely and still grateful,
keeps the curtains straight.

Yet, alone and Single-minded
Dreaming– lost in Selfish threads
Of cotton thoughts, ill-founded–
Still she knits alone.

Glancing to her Empty bed—
A mess of snow-swept ragged sheets
She rests—a fallen head
in white and frozen hands.

Also: I’m really enjoying Don Quixote (so far).
And finally: Love to all!!

~maggie~