Winter Season

Poem

Yet the silent falling snow caused him to smile. The bitter cold wind made his blood pump warm and wild through his veins. He took a deep breath as he grabbed a note book from the floor and began to write:

I sit here staring out the window lately,

dreaming of tomorrows white blanket stately.

Tomorrow, the day that never comes,

but aches like a thorn under your thumb.  

That shining beacon of luster and hope,

so quickly it slips through your fingers like a bar of soap.

But if I sit here long enough,

I will begin to see heavens fluff.

That falls quietly all around,

never making a sound.  

Wrapping my soul in that season

I love best.

When other creatures hide and stress,

I wait.

Never to hesitate.

For that white stately blanket to create –

a crown,

and throughout the ground will drown,

in its crisp clean resounding sorrow,

Tomorrow.

He read over it to make sure the sound flowed. When he looked out the window, his blanket was falling. So gently, so clean it caused a smile to light up his face. Despite all the work that lay in front of him.

He climbed off his couch to pour a glass of pop. It wasn’t long before he was sleepy. The warmth of the fire, the calmness created by the snow pulled him into dream land.

Winter Season