A Chicago Winter's Eve*

At the crown of the world
On the twenty seventh floor
The city spreads below
Sharply defined
By amber street lamps
And diamond and ruby
Lights on taxis, cars and busses.

In the thickening snowfall
Even the lights blur
And soften their intensity.

This high
All traffic noise is mute
And the city seems at peace
Though this is clearly illusory.

The lake stretches into darkness
Toward Michigan’s distant shore.
Far out are marker lights
Of buoys and ships.
Three hundred feet below
White surf breaks
Upon Chicago’s frosty beaches.

Gazing back
In the dark window
Coffee mug to my lips
My gloomy image reflects
Thoughts loosely defined
In the murk and snowfall.

When I arrive home
I will shovel my walk
And clear my drive.

Oh, that I could do the same
With this freezing clutter
Piling my brain
On this hoary winter’s eve.

It is not as much
The cold outside
As the freeze inside
That chills the heart
And stills the mind.


* I tend toward melancholy. Don't mind me. My hope for all ya'll (smile) is that the happy spirit of the holidays engulf and enrich you in every good thing! I'll come around...always do. But I'm like an old snow blower. Prime my motor, give me a yank or two, and I'll sputter then come to life. Sixty one years in Chicago might make anyone a slow-starter!