Memories
by Foxes and Magnolias
On Sunday, mid morning
I noticed the sun from skylight
strobing
as the blades from the ceiling fan
spun below it.
In stepping outside
to watch the dogs run,
the drift of wind
flung old snow from the yard
and caused me to think it was snowing currently.
Later in the day it had
and I couldn’t help but think of you-
the ways we sat frozen in your car
while driving wintered city streets,
drinking to get warm,
to ease.
There are feelings that remain
in thoughts of you,
but after so many passed yesterdays,
most memories have grown lost.
What lasts
is little more than
that day in October
when we spent hours of afternoon
in wintering water,
the sun so yellow and reflective.
Yellow has never felt as good
as then.
There are other colors and roads and songs
and sceneries, too,
in distant paths that lead past
like a piece of cloth left outside
to weather,
later found tattered
and thin.
Like many things old,
you’ve become sweet debris
of memory
kept for yesterday’s keep-
the string
of a balloon
from a county fair
let loose from hand
and drifting gone.
Foxes and Magnolias 
The poem as a whole is just lovely. What do you think of the last line in the first stanza without the IT?
“spun below”
And was it you or the snow that then stepped outside? Sounds like the snow.
The string of a balloon is great as concrete imagery.
You need not be put out by my ques/feedback. I hope you keep writing.
THANK YOU SO MUCH for this comment. I am always (well, not always, but often) embracing critiques. It’s so nice that you took the time to not only read this, but reach out to me this way.
I love the idea without the “it”.
I did mean that the I stepped outside, and not the snow. The snow was already there. But it’s interesting to me how this can be read otherwise.
Once again, thank you.
It’s just the way the phrase sits grammatically that makes for the snow stepping out.
My pleasure.
HW