The sky stands aloof;

peppered in clouds of cotton,

the wind blows harshly;

gray blocks out the sun.

The bare trees stand vigil,

against the gathering storm.

Inside, hearth and kin;

protect and keep us warm.

Children, we, gathered at the glass,

paint pictures in the frost.

Gloom shrouds the canopy

and daylights warmth is lost.

Slowly, the traces of ice fall;

crystalline granules of fresh hope,

cascading slowly toward the earth

for sledding on the slope.

Natures blanket, covers fresh

the summer’s absent warmth

and under lays the sleeping soil

as the cycle begins anew.