Between the beanfeast and a mean frost,

Ilsa paused—

Alone—

And felt more invited and welcomed

Than whence she had come.

As flakes kissed hellos,

She felt warmthfulness

By neither muffs,

Nor scarf,

Nor coat,

But by an open air

Waiting to be breathed

‘Fore exhales whispered

Wistful stories

As wondering wisps

To evening’s branched,

Bending ears. ; )