Born in September, 

a twinkle in the cold,

trees without a single leaf,

all fallen, frozen, crunching underneath

my parents’ young and nimble feet.

 

The day I sprung 

from“just a thought”

the skies were overcast 

and Jersey lakes I’d come to know 

were gray and frozen,

 

my parents having chosen

some side trip through color

through cracks in cold veneer

safely beyond the fear and swelter,

slightly dappling leaves, and then

 

as I recall I was delivered here

falling with them again.

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