Crumpled Paper

piecemeal preparation

Dredging up

winter stuff

one piece at a time

like puzzling together

fragmented memories

Remembering

what 50 feels like

sniffing out my warm fuzzy slippers

from wherever I hid them in the heat

wondering where that comfy old sweater ended up

and adding a blanket

for each month past the equinox.

In high school

I'd see that one kid-

the one that showed up

in the marshmallow coat

a mother's love put on-

and think

'Isn't that a little excessive?'

from safe beneath my three-plus layers

I put on when the cold front that promised a new season came.

I think about cutting my hair short again

(because this would be the worst time for it).

I watch the weather

and root out the winterwear that no longer fits.

I count the days until

the heater returns to the bathroom

and wear a blanket as a cape

and walk on hardwood floors

with tippy-toes.

and like the topsoil gets turned unevenly

by the squirreling away of nuts

by young'uns facing their first winter

the farmers bringing in the harvest

and the mice relocating their burrows

I stir my piles

erratically

until the rest of the year gets buried

by articles nearly forgotten

slowly brought to mind by the chill in our fingers

and the air that promises to frost our breath

sooner

or later

but not today.

The world is still reminding me

summer wasn't that long ago

so for today, I'll only wear my jacket

'til noon.

(A/N: Just two more, I think, then it'll be whatever I'm feeling nostalgic about. This was written October of 2017- gettin' a little further into the old stuff.)