(not actually a book review but one of my favorite poems I’ve ever written so there’s that)

There comes a point in every winter
when all I can think about are
open windows and the hum of the ceiling fan,
crickets and spring peepers,
the cooling air on
the first evening
that the fireflies dance
in the ever-lengthening dusk
as the sun lingers behind the trees.
Bare feet and the smell of
rain on the hot pavement
seem so far away as I sit,
wrapped in so many layers,
sweaters and socks,
sipping hot chocolate,
looking at the frosty and barren yard,
and dreaming of June.