Not even in November

Bound.

Snow straddles the fence, the treeline, the space beneath our feet.
Three solid sips of cider. Exhale warm clouds.
Blinking the ice from my eyelashes, wet trickles down my cheek. Shivers down my spine.
Frozen mirrors basque the shoreline, stopping jagged, meeting the sea.
The crunch of tires in the air behind me, company unaccompanied.
This spirited hope fills my lungs – once, twice, there goes the car door.
Many thoughts would be wonderful.
Three solid sips of cider. Exhale warm clouds. Exhale joyful laughter.
Keeping good company, even when we’re alone.
Hands are bound to the steering wheel, foot frozen to the pedal.
Keep smiling even when your heart stops beating.
Not giving up, not even in November.

M.