Tag: Weather

Winter’s Mind Games

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Photo by Denys Nevozhai via Unsplash

She sits carelessly at the edge
of my weakened eyes.
I know what she wants.
I know what she needs.
She flits in and out of our
lives, carrying a depth we
cannot understand.

One day, she’s showering snow,
the next, she’s spitting rain down
on us and I am ready for her to
make up her mind.
I step outside to a burst of
cold air that wraps me up
instantly and settles in every
agile joint and I wince.

I layer up to deal with the
bitterness of her breath; my head
is completely covered.
My arms are flailing in protest.
What will the rest of this day bring?
It is half-past 10 in the morning;
the thermostat hasn’t budged.

I sneak back inside from a
dreaded walk, douse my hands
in warm water and soap, 
and, crawl under the comfort
of a thick blanket.

The other day, she blew a bit of
sun in our direction, falsifying
her presence.
I thought for sure, she’d
nestle up in my corner
and bank in on consistency.
I was wrong.

I talk to Winter. I tell her
how much I love her,
how much I appreciate her
yearly appearance, but we
have our disagreements.
I’m willing to acknowledge them
if she’s willing to be an adult
about her wishy-washy ways.

It is a quarter to 2 and the
afternoon is lingering on,
teasing me with her
physique. I’ve decided I’m
done being a toy for Winter.

She can run those
mind games on someone
else.

Originally published in P. S. I Love You via Medium.

Covered

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Photo by Andrey Bond via Unsplash

Winter’s kiss is fatal — 
she brings with her a
wrath of unbearable cold
or maybe it’s bearable
and I’ve just grown thin-skinned
in my older age?

I sit in my favorite chair
and watch snow fall
to the ground, fluffy
chunks of purification
sing in harmony.
Music fills my ears.

I scratch my dog
and relish her satisfied
sighs as she
snuggles in closer to me — 
her whiskers brush my hands.

We sit still, peaceful in
the warmth of our home
thankful to have this roof
over our heads;
a covering of life’s
many blessings bestowed
bountifully.

People text. They call.
They want to know if
I’m enduring winter
as best as I can and I
tell them, “I’m fine” or
“We’re good” and I just want
to be done with answering
questions that are neverending
or fill me with grief.

I try to pull myself
out of the frequent funk
that wriggles in unannounced
and sets up shop
deep within my flesh.

I prefer the luring aspect
of smelling and feeling
clean.

I remind myself of
the gratitude that lives
on my tongue, how anxious
I often am to acknowledge it,
I will not forget where
I could be versus where
I am.

Covered in the gift
of love and its divine presence,
the sadness I swim in
isn’t promised to drown me
only wash and purify me
as white as the snow
sticking to the ground.

This is what I tell myself.
This is what I have to believe.

Originally published in Other Doors via Medium.