Today the sun is a hazy memory
smaller and farther away through snowclouds.
Tomorrow will be a few minutes longer,
barely perceptible like a grain of sand
In the heel of your shoe, perhaps, but more like
one snowflake melting on your cheek
Or a wink from someone you love and dearly miss.
Lower Sunnyslope Opera 
I’m known for saying, once I’m back to work after Hogmanay, “Aye, there’s a bit of a stretch in the mornings now.”
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