Winter

You always said you didn’t like the winter. 
The green was gone and it was too damn cold.
But I never minded it much.

Out in the frigid air we could see our breath,
and the air bit at the tip of your nose.
Your cheeks rosy and red.
Smiles are always prettier in the winter that way.

Inside, the frosted windows fighting to stay clear,
the edges iced over and the middles fogging,
droplets of water forming in the center.

There was little green, aside from the pine trees.
The wind bit harder when it picked up.
But I’d still like to see you out in the snow,
with that winter smile.