Those were times of easy-deep bonding

disguised as banter with little shoves and winks,

our group aesthetic so void of perfection as

velvet icing skimmed skin, spicy cookies taste-tested.

Moist, warm air crackled of sweetness

and all inside was calm while a slicing wind

rattled black-armed trees. But we

brainstormed, got to the play of work

and hours floated by like slow wintry boats.

Architectural plans came into being at your command;

bedecked snow people frolicked; roofs grew festive:

it was a black, cold eve kept bright as a snow squall arrived,

one more adventure waiting just beyond our door.

Those gingerbread houses stood strong a long time,

made to last a season.

You grew up before we expected it and

if I loved you then, I love you more now

(you may not know how infinite that is)

and I hoard such times as treasures,

kept safe for the unknown tomorrows,

rich nourishment for this grandmother heart.