A Warm December

You are that rare December which keeps Autumn alive past its time. Delighted, you laugh to see me, and the others, shuffle across lawns of fallen leaves, crushing them in a dance of stomping feet and waving arms. Then I kick the debris into the warm air, and yellow, red, bronze, even some green lights flash briefly. Children will arrive after we leave; they will know what to do next... Songbirds have flown south, but, dear December, you know how to make sweet music unfold in our imaginations. Some of us dance to an inner rhythm, others stand still, listening to an interior symphony. Tree branches are almost bare, and colder winds send brittle leaves rattling down streets and sidewalks. But I blink at these signs of winter and open my ears to the sparrows' sweet singing. Squirrels, rabbits, and the occasional deer signal robust life lingers. What is required of me and the others? To emulate the sweetness of this warm December. It is enough.