What do you do when winter begins? I think, stepping out of the movie, finally colder outside than it is in the theater.
And I think it again, the first time I see you in one of your scarves.
I can’t get enough of this seltzer, I think, as I bring the cold to my lips again, out on the park bench.
Outside the grocery store, I should get some more.
Knowing full well that damn seltzer is going to freeze me from the inside as I’m frozen from out.
Do we stop eating salads?
Do we go to bed earlier?
Get to listen to the crickets less?
Do we stop drinking spritzer?
Or simply pack away our shorts?
Do the mornings last longer? Do we linger more? Do we avoid the cold with each other’s arms? With an extra long cup of tea? Do you make soup or take time to watch the first freeze take its grasp? Do we actually read by the fire as we reminisce about sweating through the hot summer nights, though I’m never really sure if we’ve ever lit a fire and pulled out books.
What do we do when winter begins? I finally ask you.
And you shrug, and then say something about the new paper towels or the luggage you’re supposed to buy, and even with that, I’m thinking of the next thing I’ll do right after I finish this sentence.