Winter

By C. Burgess

Brilliant, ivory, bleached, snow,
Crunches deafeningly beneath the sable, coal-black sole of my boot,
As breath dances in a jovial circle, freely, before my eyes,
Icing, chilling, as if sitting in a freezer.
Winter.
I kicked my boot against the wall,
The flakes shaking off, like burdens descending from my shoulders,
As inside, the fire devoured wood, burning in the safety of its hearth,
And the warmth engulfed me, heating to the roots of my body.
Winter.
I press the tip of my nose against the glass, chilling, soothing, and tickling my senses,
Glazed breath fogging up the window,
And snowflakes lifelessly jingling down, settling atop a snowman.
Winter, so special.