January 3

By John I. Blair

The air shines,
All clouds fled to Florida,
Sky like turquoise
In its glowing hue;

But out the window
Pale brown grass
And leafless trees
Deny that spring is here.

A winter high from Canada,
Chilling to the bone,
Lacks only snow
For making Texas home.

Cats curled up in corners,
Sighing in their sleep,
Dream of warmer afternoons
And slower prey;

And I,
Dozing in my chair,
Also dream, of April
And of you.

©2008 John I. Blair