Oranged

Gray days are perfect for tea.
Today, I choose one of orange spice,
Its faint citrus scent makes my mind wander
And I find myself dreaming...


I wake up, once again alone,
In a house that is not my home
As the sun warms the 
Crisp December air.
The lack of snow - so near 
Christmas - befuddles me.
Deftly twisting my long golden hair 
Into a bun, I wander outside.
The chill of hardwood floors
Is nothing compared to the damp grass
In the small yard behind the house.
Small flowers neatly edge
The grass, a small pool,
And a pair of flourishing trees
Laden with juicy citrus.
Carving into the tangy, orange flesh, 
I perch languorously at the edge
Of the water to break my fast.


I wake up, 
once again alone,
In a house 
that is not 
my home.