When the short days feel
inexpressible. When
nothing's left of fall. When
the dark entry of winter makes
each of us shrink. When
relatives finally call.

Some of us burrow. Some
of us bake. Some of us
leave the year behind.
Some of us take. Some of us
travel into the cold,
ice, and snow—the moon's
crescent reminding us to go
easy. We've been here before.