Tomorrow, snow in the forecast
but today, weather’s relaxed and setting records.
The last time November felt this gentle
was the year you were born.
We took off the heavy baby clothes
that I’d just figured out how to put on
and took the stroller out for hours.
You’d gasp and laugh when you caught
the soft breeze in your upturned mouth.
I’d wheel you, walking behind,
sun warming our cool autumn faces,
me steering while you practiced
how to face into the wind.
Puff Of Smoke Poems 