Winter Green

I am here,
Sitting,
Not noticing the climate control,
Unaware of the summer lingering
In the November breezes of San Diego.
I am thinking
On a colder wind
Sweeping over an empty green.
Everyone inside,
At dinner and aware
Of the boots stomping through the briefly opened door
Cold, quick gusts circling them and stealing in.
They are felt. The people are aware of them,
And can feel the cold pushing through
Old cracks in older walls, thick and warm.
They are alive;
They are all so alive.
Cold winds play
On the dark green;
And the lights glow warmly from the top of the Hop.
Yes,
The lights are still on
In the Hop.

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