A Vine in Winter

Sleeping, my darling. Laid out, my sweetheart. Cold. Memories of springtime, sappy. Doormat, dormant. Tolerance in the hush of Winter. No hurry to bud. A vine in Winter; Winter is slow. Just how I like it. Nutrients, in a nutshell; the soil spoils me with its richness. I shake and sip through a straw; divine all the royalties, whilst sleeping, dreaming of a verdant summertime. Winter is slow. Just how I like it. Carbohydrate-filled, I don’t need much energy to laze about in the hills, watching flakes melt upon my vines. My time; I am expecting to thrill, when warmed to the gills. A vine in Winter. Just how I like it. I don’t mind this tender time, for in due season, I’ll grow. For now, cryoprotectants let me safely tarry. Tomorrow is a sunny disposition, Annie; the terminus of dreamland.