Winter
I awoke to find
that Jack Frost had paid a visit
to my bedroom windows
for the very first time
this Winter.
If only I had seen him at work
I would have thanked him
for decorating
my otherwise plain view
to the outside world.
How amazing he is,
working under cover of Night
creating countless
of the most delicate ferns,
interwoven, unfolding
in two magical dimensions.
They are the most crystalline lace
through which I can now survey
the sparkling hoar frost
on the crusty snow out there
covering everything in sight.
I awoke to see
a black-masked cardinal
punctuating the white-draped forest
with its brilliant red and pointed crest
hopping from branch to barest branch.
They love the cold,
these whistling red greeters of the morning,
these messengers
connecting Earth with all Spiritual realms,
feathered angels ushered in on North Winds.
I, too, love the cold
for it makes me realize so many things,
as it clarifies and purifies
and purges
all souls as well as the soulless with frigid acumen.
I awoke to see
ice on the pond,
Winter's pier glass, a frozen mirror
hemming in the sad brown cattails
in a cold, opaque yet delicate parquet of Nature.
The arbors
in the garden
stand like hunched-over skeletons
almost afraid to be seen
without their green Summer raiment.
The vines about the arbors
hold tight to their arched ramparts,
clinging bravely in spite of the cold
knowing that the pale Winter sun
will be gentle with them.
I awoke to hear
a rap on the door.
"Breakfast is ready,"
came a voice from within and without,
smelling the aromas of coffee and toast.
The cold of the old pine floorboards
made them creak even more,
revealing my whereabouts
from room to room
like a ghost on its haunt.
And the staircase
seemed more steeper than before,
as I descended to the kitchen
where warmth and conversation
around a hot cup would be found.
I awoke to find
that Winter is our friend,
our ally in Time,
a defender, a hoarder,
a keeper of all things 'til Spring.
The chill of Wintertide
makes all else more cozy
like sweaters and blankets
and fireside evenings
until the embers and their memory
no longer remain.
I realize now
more than ever before
how Winter has changed me
forever more,
and made me realize
not too soon nor too late,
what it means to see Winter
waiting at Autumn's gray gate.
copyright © 2019 Gregory Firlotte
Copyright © Gregory Joseph Firlotte | Year Posted 2019
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