Treasures


Today I stopped to watch
a squirrel scurry from tree to tree
carrying acorns in its mouth
burying them in a squirrel pantry.

Its coat fluffy with winter fur
intent upon its work;
driven for what was needed
to live through cold and snow.

Looking around I see the earth
bedding down for the frosted months,
brown and grey with little green,
waiting for its coat of white.

The wind picks up, the rain begins.
Hurrying toward my warm home,
I think about the dark days
during winter’s blast, bone chilling cold.

Wondering whether it will be
a long and dreaded interval
before the crocuses raise their heads
through the melting snow.

When did I lose
the joy of looking at winter’s fare
full of fun, sledding down hills,
snowball fights and snowmen?

Those buried treasures of my youth
never to be lived again,
except deep in my memory
waiting patiently for new birth.

P. J. Wolf