Your tiny tracks
play hide and seek with the winter wind.
They appear before my own prints
and are swept away from behind, made invisible.
I wonder at the significance of this–
Picking you up, I climb the
steep steps slowly one by one.
Morning daydreams chase the falling snow
in swirls of good intentions and solid ambitions–
with a sprinkling of old books, soft music and
cups of hot, honeyed tea, I settle down to
work with the pup at my feet.