This time of year
It’s so hard to get out of bed
In the middle of the night to pee
Because the toilet
Is down the path,
Behind the yurt,
B.Y.O.T.P.
But last night,
I stumbled out of the door
Into an indigo forest,
Gilded in silver light.
I caught Jack Frost
With his paintbrush
Poised over the papery edge
Of a dying leaf.
He froze in place,
Except for a polite tilt
Of his chin and
A modest shift of his eyes
As I relieved myself
Behind him.
Celebrating Mortality
