I want to write about four day old snow
cracking into laughter
under the steps
of new hillwalking shoes
across dozing fields
in frozen sunlight.
I want to write about smokey whiskey
sipped from second-hand glasses
smiling on lips by firelight.
Logs, split by strong hands,
after washing salt from the car
and feeding the birds.
I want to write about juicy kisses
and chocolate chip cookies
hot from the oven, pulled apart,
wafting of butter
waiting to plunge into icy milk
of refreshing comfort.
This may be my last bite,
so I’ll enjoy it.
Grief can wait till tomorrow.