I see you’ve brought the snow and tempted the trees to undress
in a flutter of wind and colour,
caressing each leaf and branch
with the cool nip in your breath,
hinting at snowdrifts and darkness.
We were expecting you;
the seduction of your grey skies
forcing us to touch the nakedness of our own thoughts
and holding us there despite our resistance.
You’re a lady and a hard critic,
preferring simplicity and subtle grace to June’s light, blossoming gaiety.
You are a silent and quick captain on stormy seas,
with an eye for what mortals do not yet know.
Come in November,
reclaim your ancient throne in the dank chambers of our subconscious.
Remind me of the whispered mutterings of my soul,
that they will not be silenced in my 41st year.
Set your pet, the cold, damp wind
on a fox hunt through the slumbering, forgotten forest of my creative spirit
and accept nothing less than the prize.
Copyright Andshelaughs 2014