Anticipating Frost

As the blood rushes, my heart hammers in my breast.
The silk and wool on my shoulders guards the cold.
Seven years of absence and now the Winter's bold
Even though my cool expression is breaking its best.

'Tis night in this yellow room of travelled soul,
Where tea leaves steam to warm the trembling toll
And candles push the dark away with glowing spheres
Which I wish my resolve would do to these nagging fears.

A rush, cold breeze assaults the room upon my cheek
An open door dividing this gathered warmth in fragile pew
Then shut, and rumble low voices to find the view
Of the wanderer, tall and lean in dark robes, eyes seek.

I freeze to watch the warmed hearth flames sizzle and break.
A quiet foot steps on carpet, then wood and right next to me.
Deep breath flows into me, my eyes search, "Could it be she?"
A gloved hand, a woolen arm I follow to a blue-eyed ache.

Lovely, so lovely, the forgiveness of a dew-eyed smile.
Her fingers touch mine, and she sits to stay a while.