The violent sound of snow crunching beneath my feet.
The grimy slush as it melts on the street.
The pelting of tiny, frozen bombs of sleet.
The sudden, sliding loss of footing, landing on my seat.
The gratuitous good will of the people I greet.
The artificial concern of everyone I meet.
The life-fog that comes from my body's heat.
The rock-frozen ground that signals summer's retreat.
The naked trees that are proof of fall's defeat.
The sun that mocks me while giving no heat.
The freezing, frozen drops of rain that become a solid sheet.
The still, silent air where the cold is indiscreet.
The dagger-like icicles that the children eat.
The snowball- now a weapon, but later a treat.
The snowfall- so massive, universal and complete;
Yet snowflakes- so delicate, so unique, so neat.
Faith for the warmth of spring is no small feat.
A hope for color against colorless life competes.
This is winter.