Winter

An austere grey landscape mirrored in an equally sullen sky;

Muddy snow and tangled deadwood

Blanket wet, rotting leaves of a once brilliant autumn.

The morning chill crisp on the air as the cold cuts

As hard as the cracking ice underfoot or on a windshield;

Billowing breath and scarf, rough and tight against the throat.

Waking up again in the dark of day to leave the warmth behind;

Grasp a cup of comfort steaming

With swirling musings of miracles ahead,

For even frozen days offer possibility -

To walk on water without divinity.

Reviews

[Jake]

I grew up in a place that is always very cold and has bitter winters. I have since moved to Bali, Indonesia and often find myself missing the weather I previously hated. In this new light I began pondering the season - here is the product of my ruminations. I would greatly appreciate your input and feedback! Thank you for reading.