Barefoot In The Snow (Poetry)

When the first few flakes
start to flutter down
I am reminded
how eager she was
to go out shooting

No one else we knew
would kick off their shoes
and with youth’s disdain
for comfort hardly
flinch as feet turned blue

As fakirs mastered
walking on hot coals
so she endured ice
for the sake of Art’s
iconic photo

Spirit of Nature
barefooted white-blonde
scarlet dress a flame
the only colour
warming the forest

December’s daughter
caught on calendar
proof that nothing lasts
older she forgets
to be impulsive