The mundane grows weighty,
like an overused muscle
tired of thankless encores,
moving again to do more of the same
in a place that thrives on routine
in a season bent on staying cold.
But then—
I catch a God-painted sunrise,
a fresh snowflake on my tongue,
a mischievous twinkle in my child’s eye,
a glimpse of antler behind a tree,
the scent of adventure awaiting its chase,
and these become my second wind.
