Winter, that season in the year that has come around again.
A chilled air, the days sunny and clear
I have always loved winter’s
in this city
Even though as the
years pass I hanker more for the fine hot days of the north
Once discovered they
are hard to pass up
Along the with open space and the starry nights.
This year we have no escape route though from the morning
chill
As a child winters were a time for those last minutes in bed
to be savored.
It was a small
weatherboard house that did not insulate you from the frosty air.
The pace was set for almost running for the train to keep
your soul from the cold.
And the rain would drizzle over the day grey and monotone.
We wore black and
dessert boots.
Now the cold just seeps into to these complaining bones
A sunny day is the gift.
People refer to the autumn years
Autumn colours are warming even though the life is leaving
the leaves.
The tree survives another season
Winter is for when we grow cold.
The cold sits in my body more with each passing year
And that some things in winter simply hibernate
But others challenge the myth that spring is the only time
for the emergence of new life.
I celebrate my own birth in the month of July.
Yes smack in the middle of winter.
I will live every winter to the full.
