Winter

From the window of my kitchen
A stream of thoughts take me back
Into the winter mornings that were
The memories of my past.

When thoughts fly
They heed neither time nor distance
And here they have landed me
Into winter mornings
That were but a sweet forgotten memory
Until now.

Waking up to the purr
Of my cat cuddling next to me
The light tinkle of my mother's bangles
As she puts the tea to boil
On the stove and rolls out some bread
With extraordinary skill.

That small house that we called home -
A semichaotic place in a sleepy town.
Everybody knew what everybody was doing
On each side of the wall.

Father is taking a bath as I can tell
From the forceful splashes of water
Drawn from the bucket.
And I just lie, listening to my brother
Playing with the cat, singing songs
Of delight.

The smell of the warm quilt
And the sunshine streaming
Through the window in oval patches
Mingle with the aroma of the tea
In the kitchen.
I stretch out
And open my eyes
Reluctantly.

From the window of my kitchen
In California, I see
What I had never seen before.
Winter is what you make of it.

Presently, my oven beeps.
My frittata must be done.