Winter lingers upon my windowsill.
Stillness creeps across a frozen creek.
A cackling crow breaks the silence,
As a layer of ice cracks
Open to a chilled current.
A raccoon skips across the rocks
Never needing a new toboggan
To warm his furry noggin.
Bandits are on the prowl
Looking for a haunted house
To warm their tiny paws.
Maybe they will find yummy garbage,
A stick of gum or Italian sausage.
With no one home they will have their fill.
Winter’s bleakness just might hide a thrill
That feeds the belly and warms the heart.
Oops, a raccoon has to barf.