Winter's Wicked Wanton Ways
The beauty of winter is not lost on me
I admire the breath of frost on branches,
the diamond sparkle of virgin white,
the soft air-dance of swirling flakes.
But winter's beauty is harsh and cold,
like a cruel lover mocking one's naivete
it claims as its victims those who are foolish
enough to face it without respecting its power.
A crisp winter day slaps you in the face
as you walk out to greet the world,
reminding you that you are at its mercy,
that you must seek protection
In the other seasons there is warmth ...
spring brings with it a promise,
summer brings its radiant blooms,
and autumn is an artist's pallette.
But in winter, the warmth dies,
the nature I love the rest of the year
spurns me, and I know I must wait
for its return, when the white melts into green.
It is then that part of me awakens,
to once again feel life inside,
to feel that I am part of the world
and that the world welcomes me.
My only real sense of belonging
is when I am in touch with nature
and can feel it's as much for me
as it is for everyone else.
But winter has no gentle touch
as it hits me, cold and unforgiving,
and I long to end its icy grip
and taste of the promise of spring.
Laurie
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