When the Frost Is in the City

(Flattery through imitation)

When the frost is on the windshields and the glass fronts of the shops
And you see the breath of scurriers and smoke from smokestack tops
And sparks jump from the streetcar wires and sweat drips in their windows
Sparrows start to fly away south and red squirrels build their burrows
The air is crisp, the light is golden, and hearts let out a sigh
Summer lethargy is finally over, colors come to life
The city tries to ignore the cold and life begins to hop
When the frost is on the windshields and the glass fronts of the shops

Spring and summer displayed such life, the year now seems turned towards death
It’s more a maturity, says the best is to come yet
Thoughts turn to celebrations and gatherings of light and warmth
Food and love and family, candle lights and hot teas on hearths
Rhythms slow, the sun hides away, the city feels somehow tired
Everyone rushes from A to B benches are not desired
And cyclists store their bikes away as temps, they start to drop
When the frost is on the windshields and the glass fronts of the shops

Coats, gloves, scarves and long underwear are taken out of storage
As trees trade in their shades of green for yellows, reds, and orange
The days begin and end in a patchwork of electric light
And every afternoon, showers pop umbrellas into sight
For a moment the carpet of leaves mirrors still clothed branches
Till the walkways become a mixture of dead leaves and dampness
The warmest fans of fireplace mantels collect their firewood crop
When the frost is on the windshields and the glass fronts of the shops