An Open Window on a Winter's Night

Last night the temperature fell

below zero, into the minus numbers,

indicating not just “cold,” but

“really cold.” My wife, as she does

routinely, every night, opened the window

a bit, not as much as she normally might,

but enough to let the cold air in

to circulate about to replace the stale air

of a room shut up and heated, a dry heat

forced in from the furnace across the hall.

So I piled an extra blanket onto the bed,

four blankets now to keep us warm, and

anyone looking in would wonder if we were there,

buried someplace under the lumpy mass of bedding,

only our heads barely visible above the blankets

pulled tight and tucked in around our shoulders, to our ears,

blankets keeping out the cold of minus numbers,

the temperature falling below zero.

Keep the window closed on a night like this?

We are made of hearty stock, able to handle

the weather of our lives, the storms that blow,

the rise and fall of the barometer indicating change,

and made heartier still by the cold reality

of who we are and where we live,

kept that way by the fresh air of winter

circulating and replacing the staleness of our lives

on a winter night, safe and warm.