November from February by Shelley Miller

Wind blows the hands of the clock to five after one
As we walk by
So long to bad days
They're gone like the blue from the sky

Leaves race the alley, chase birds over trash can lids
You take my hand
Walk under ice strung like lights through the branches
Of every bare tree

Race down the sidewalk like kids on a rink
Cold fingers flying, we'll warm them
When we go inside, sit for a while
Laugh at the smiles we can't keep to ourselves
I catch your eyes watching mine
All our words lost somewhere
Between our hearts and our heads

Delicate tip-toe walk through the white steam
From two cups of tea
Army of suits rolls by, straight from the train
We're sitting side by side, not saying anything

• Folk
• americana
• folk
• indie
• rock
• singer-songwriter
• Chicago