Her winter coat is zipped up tight
Dog’s lead, scarf - sorted
Her sister’s Christmas present - not yet
“There’s still a month.” she thinks to herself
As she steps out the door - wind abrasive; weather dull
The chill air provides fleeting thoughts like an avalanche
“Will it snow this year?” she thinks to herself
She is reminded of her youth once more
Longing for closure - school closure
“Don’t get your hopes up.” was her mother’s mantra
As she wanders she sees the usual November scenery
Leafless trees, towering streetlights, murky pavements
A strange charm to it saw by all who crossed its path
Even if overcast weather brought a depressing winter slump
The park’s stunning evergreens brightened the most bitter of moods
The rusty gate creaks open with a mournful brass accompaniment
She sits on the bench opposite the fence railings and almost at once
Her cheek is blessed with a singular drop of snow, falling and landing like a tear
“Don’t get your hopes up.” she thinks with a wry smile
Whilst another floats gently from the heavens
An actual tear surfaces, welling softly
She reads the park bench inscription once more, as snow drifts quicker around her
“For Catherine, who loved this view”
An obscure saint or martyr, just another person whose name blesses a bench
A person who saw the view through all the year, in all four seasons
But to her, Catherine was her mother.
“Don’t get your hopes up.” was her mother’s mantra
When the snow was light on the ground, the rest of the time
She advocated to not lose hope, to not give up, to strive for greatness
Until St. Catherine’s Day five years ago.
She prays in the now squall:
“We have no more hope but in you
You are our protector, have pity on us”
Then, after a few moments, the snow stops
She gets up to buy her sister\'s Christmas present
To resume her walk on St. Catherine’s Day.