November evening...
a crisp wintriness looming
and yet I am warm
beside a cozy fire,
seeing the glow in her eyes
Every Ozarkian November, when the first cold rains from the north pour out across the land,
Instantly sweeping away the easy, quiet warmth of autumn- wild winds blow down the colors of the hills.
Each pelting sheet of wetness slamming my windows,
Indicates a new season approaches- a season of joint-gripping misery, a callous wintriness sneaking incredulously into my bones.
Odious elements! You have snatched away the benevolence of the sun!
Tis a familiar sight I've seen,
A splash of red against the snow.
The only other color is green,
But this does not interest him I know.
Flitting in and out of holly trees,
I wonder what it is he sees?
What brings him out on a day as this?
Perhaps it is the wintriness
That stirs in him an innate desire
To see nature without summer's fire.
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