A Warm December Poem by Daniel Brick

You are that rare December
which keeps Autumn alive
past its time. Delighted,
you laugh to see me, and
the others, shuffle across
lawns of fallen leaves,
crushing them in a dance of
stomping feet and waving arms.
Then I kick the debris into
the warm air, and yellow, red,
bronze, even some green lights
flash briefly. Children will arrive
after we leave; they will know what
to do next... Songbirds have flown
south, but, dear December, you know
how to make sweet music unfold
in our imaginations. Some of us dance
to an inner rhythm, others stand still,
listening to an interior symphony.

Tree branches are almost bare, and
colder winds send brittle leaves
rattling down streets and sidewalks.
But I blink at these signs of winter
and open my ears to the sparrows'
sweet singing. Squirrels, rabbits, and
the occasional deer signal robust life
lingers. What is required of me and
the others? To emulate the sweetness
of this warm December. It is enough.