The Bitter Cold of Winter

The bitter cold of winter, negative degrees

plunged lower by the wind, winter’s armament,

assaults the fortress where I live,

barricaded inside, donning the armor of winter,

the long-johns of childhood days, wool knit socks,

and a cup of coffee to warm my hands, the warmth

of the room chilled by a buffeting attack

kept at bay behind these walls. And venturing out,

because I must, layers and layers upon me,

earmuffs and hats and hoods, scarves

and a down-filled coat and gloves, arms

ineffective against the cold’s bite now

in my aging years, recalling cold winters past

that never bothered youth too restless to be shut in

as I am now, restless, too, though barricaded and warm,

content to watch the snow falling, the winter storm’s

cold and snow raging around me, sheltered

in the security of age, buffeted, perhaps, by memories

of youth, memories that keep me warm, keep me safe,

keep me content in the winter months of life.