Winter

I am coming home
though I am home
already.
Bitterest cold
but the squirrels
are so fat
and playing
entirely
unserious
about the mean business
of survival.
One friend
no, two
feeling forces
and making plans
to satisfy.
One friend
making friends
with everyone
on the train
and becoming, herself,
formidable.
One friend
winnowing it down
towards
something
more true.
And the last one
hoping
and preparing
both
in equal measure.
The details of each
irrelevant. Don't
strain your eyes.
Optimism
like that bright bluejay
in the snow.