how to approach a year

Wintered,
dreared with rainfall’s constant companionship
and comrade to the squall of wind.

There’s always tomorrow.

Chilled,
bone clinging cold gathers at your feet
climbing your legs with ice picks.

There’s always tomorrow.

Unconvinced
by the warm glowing promise
of the weather forecaster
smiling in his studio
and sheltered from my opinion.

There’s always tomorrow,
and we are yet to have snow.