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This is Winter
July 6, 2008
Wind whips leaves from their resting places.
This bus, it moves too fast
To savor winter’s tears of joy.
But when it slows,
You can see them dancing.
Twirling with each other,
Spinning however they please.
Some get tired, and start to fall.
They settle along every building,
Outlining man’s creation.
But most still dance, and more join the summoning.
This is the beginning of something beautiful.
Everything joy.
Everything uplifting.
This dream, barely beginning.
This life, taking a turn.
This love, ending before.
This is winter.
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