The Coming of Winter

Dear Sunshine, I have the window open to see you. I haven’t contemplated you for a while, and before you go, I am now reminded to be thankful of your infinite love. And now I see the winds moving the leaves. This means, she will soon come . . . And before I can hear her transparent, cold body moving against the front door, and then her footsteps of small, grey bodies with their many small, beady eyes quietly screeching on the wood floor and drifting into dark corners, I must say, I am sorry. I didn’t appreciate you like I do now. But I suppose, there’s more to winter than crisp, cold wind. The flame on a lit candle that I placed near the window now sways briskly like always when she comes. Her husky, feminine voice now speaks, rattling against the window I have just closed. The sound of invisible feet moves again as it pleases. My room again colder and colder. And I will soon hide myself in covers, hearing her concerns about me, then her body feeling like icy wind near mine until the sun rises.