The Intimacy of Winter
I have known winter
Intimately,
the way it creeps up
quietly while I am sleeping
and lays its silence not in white
like you might expect
but in strokes of pale
blue.
In the mornings,
Just after, when I have no choice
but to walk and the air
freezes the very words
that feel as jagged
as the arm of a snowflake,
I listen to my breath,
the way it lingers
on the weightlessness
of the silence,
the way it hangs
in the cold air briefly
before it drifts away.
your poem is almost like a “dream of a snow fall”… // also it made me pause… yes, on a brisk winter walk in the snow you are more aware… hear your breath more than probably any other time….
Thank you, Kathleen!