Impending December gray skies float your old familiar way

Your northeastern leaves have shriveled up and died

What is winter like back home? Is it everything I ever dreamed of?

Even in the shelter of car doors our noses turn bright red

Small heaters blast cool air in our faces

Everything to keep the blood rushing through our cheeks

I can't help but wonder where your trusty green coat is now

With its sturdy collar as the last line of defense against the whipping wind

While warming our hands in front of the heaters imbedded in the dash

The tiniest of flurries trickle down from the heavenly white skies

Each disappearing with every blink of an eye

Neighbouring houses come alive as the sun sinks beneath the horizon

Colorful lights flashing to life in the creeping darkness

And still, your hands haven't warmed up