The One Where I'm Wrapped Up Like An Enchilada.

Dear Lover,

The bitter wind arrived at four a.m.
Branches bending to mother nature.
Turned off my white noise machine.
And listened to it all.

Now I'm walking to work.
Bundled up.
Not nearly as harsh as the rest of the States.
But still cold, all the same.

Remembering back to a few summer vacations ago.
The windows down.
Jack Johnson looping on the radio.
Warmth and bare feet.



Love,
Me.