When Summer is Gone

At the beach. Wasps and frisbees zigzag. Around us, but sometimes we get hit. Winter. We will barely be able to leave our homes. There’s only hot chocolate to keep us warm and happy. But even this treat becomes gray and the swirls fade. We are still expected to go to our offices. Which are as buried as us. The lines of the parking lot are covered by snow. We park anyway. Winter sun hits the frosty glass of the front door. Every winter, I want to run… …through sand that burns our feet. Past wasps and frisbees… But instead, I open the door.