It describes my love for winter and the changes that it makes to the world around us


1. November



The windows weep condensation, streams down,

 to settle at the pane ,a jaw line.

Dripping rhythmically seeping , into her rug.

The sky outside; smudged lead,  plumed with dark clouds.

 Like water after a brush is cleaned.

Trees are wrecked with wailing winds, bring news

 The gossiping of an new  arctic chill.

 Bearing her teeth,  sinking into flushed cheeks.

Red and pink, swathed in itchy, coarse wool.

 Suffocated under turtleneck jumpers

 and fur trimmings. Small children hobble up

the long  school pathway, thrown and tossed about

in the loud winds, red  eyes watering,

 redder noses running.

they are sustained on the promise,

of the following seasons festivities, come to liberate them.

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