Winter Waits

The night wind

is sweet.

It carries with it woodsmoke

and curls around spindly, clacking branches,

almost leafless now,

they foretell winter’s cold chill.

The last of a past season’s blooms

hold tight to their stems,

tenacious,

misplaced remnants of warmer days,

their frost-tipped leaves discoloured and withered.

The streets as always

are quiet,

still,

as though holding their collective breath,

while centuries-old trees and homes

witness another silent night.

There is life here

if you know where to look;

a couple walking their dog

are lost in thought and speech and

the moment,

water leaks across the pavement

a darkened shadow of an earlier event,

A car creeps past a stop sign

and then is gone.

Another night,

the same as any other,

but now the stage is set for winter

who has only to appear –

she waits on the edges of the night.

As the wind rustles up the street

it carries now, mingled with smoke,

the cold

unmistakeable

promise of snow.

 

 

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2 thoughts on “Winter Waits

    • Thank you, you’re so sweet! It’s especially nice to hear because I wanted to capture the mood of our street at night but I wasn’t sure I’d managed to and so almost didn’t post this.

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