Pale peonies are open
as were my arms to the sky in winter
in a field, in a twirl, as the snow brushed autumn
from my face, leaving fresh pink cheeks, a sign
of something that blooms in winter.
During these moments of silence and peace,
I find gratitude. A poem taped to the wall
of my heart, the peonies, the snow,
a call from a friend
from long ago.