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.