Mr. ATL

wiry, old man, diminutive

with thick spectacles

shouts the specials at ATL

Atlanta airport food court, Section B

I am surprised to find him here

old friend, stately man, aged only a bit

in front of "Fresh Eats", salads and wraps

"Today is a great a day...a GREAT DAY!!"

7 years ago

he was in front of Paschal's chicken

daring us to try the mac and cheese

collard greens

on my way to Sarasota

this time, to visit my parents' grave

I am cheered to find him still at it

all Georgia hospitality, gentle resilience

single digits

on night's like this

ice pebbled on my car's windshield

shuffling to put on my gloves

brushing and scraping the glass

I am reminded that the extreme cold

is most beloved of my soul

I read once, composer John Adams

in New England, taking his dog for a walk

the wind chill, negative twenty

a cleansing and a meditation

a hard look within, dog hale and smiling

it's coming

can you feel it like you know it?

you read about it, heard it discussed

not the single digit weather

but the arrival of the ritual fires

burning the dross

cooking the bread

relinquishing the silver

from the dull ore

that has calcified around our hearts