WALKING HOME

The winter day is not yet old
but light is almost gone.
Cars move slowly through the street,
their engines hushed
to a lion's purr
in a quiet city, dressed
in a white flannel gown.

Street lights, porch lights
light my way
as I feel the packages
in my arms, the frozen sidewalk
under my shoes.
The evening air is calm and pure
slowing my feet
from their hurrying pace
as I pass by the sleeping trees.

When I am home
my house is warm - 
the stove, the oven, my cozy 
lap robe on my chair.
I will pull down the shades
closing off the dark, the cold.
I will light the lamps.

While out in the yard
the frozen garden, the lilac bush
will wait for Spring.


				Lucille Murphy