Posts tagged winter

Winter Alone

IMG_0050-crop

I listen to a cold wind blowing-

ice crystals like music,

ring against my windows.

The quiet disturbs me,

even as I read a well loved book,

sip hot tea, remember…

Winter-with its chill enveloping me,

with the whistling of the wind,

seems so much colder without you.

I remember days, when we cuddled

the warmth of our bodies dispelled the cold.

The wind and ice was almost comforting.

It made me realize that I was warm,

in spite of the cold, the blowing wind,

ice crystals decorating the trees outside.

I wonder where those days have gone?

You are in one room, me in another.

We barely speak. This is not love.

We look around and see nothing better,

nothing more enticing than simply home,

a familiar place, warm under electric blankets.

Over thirty years and what are we?

A couple-maybe from the eyes of others.

We are just two people in one house.

I cannot even imagine it being any better,

for us to cuddle, to whisper sweet words.

So this is how it ends? Together, alone.

Could I love again? Could you?

Would we even want to take the chance?

Or would we rather just lay safely?

Knowing how love hurts, how loss hurts

and not being willing to a the risk?

Dreaming of “what if?” but never finding out.

listen to a cold wind blowing-

ice crystals like music,

Winter Alone

I listen to a cold wind blowing-

ice crystals like music,

ring against my windows.

The quiet disturbs me,

even as I read a well loved book,

sip hot tea, remember…

Winter-with its chill enveloping me,

with the whistling of the wind,

seems so much colder without you.

I remember days, when we cuddled

the warmth of our bodies dispelled the cold.

The wind and ice was almost comforting.

It made me realize that I was warm,

in spite of the cold, the blowing wind,

ice crystals decorating the trees outside.

I wonder where those days have gone?

You are in one room, me in another.

We barely speak. This is not love.

We look around and see nothing better,

nothing more enticing than simply home,

a familiar place, warm under electric blankets.

Over thirty years and what are we?

A couple-maybe from the eyes of others.

We are just two people in one house.

I cannot even imagine it being any better,

for us to cuddle, to whisper sweet words.

So this is how it ends? Together, alone.

Could I love again? Could you?

Would we even want to take the chance?

Or would we rather just lay safely?

Knowing how love hurts, how loss hurts

and not being willing to a the risk?

Dreaming of “what if?” but never finding out.

ring against my windows.

Warmth from the roaring flames

growing lower, the crackling quieter now.

just embers, flashing from the fireplace.

The quiet comforts me,IMG_0050-crop

Winter Alone

I listen to a cold wind blowing-

ice crystals like music,

ring against my windows.

The quiet disturbs me,

even as I read a well loved book,

sip hot tea, remember…

Winter-with its chill enveloping me,

with the whistling of the wind,

seems so much colder without you.

I remember days, when we cuddled

the warmth of our bodies dispelled the cold.

The wind and ice was almost comforting.

It made me realize that I was warm,

in spite of the cold, the blowing wind,

ice crystals decorating the trees outside.

I wonder where those days have gone?

You are in one room, me in another.

We barely speak. This is not love.

We look around and see nothing better,

nothing more enticing than simply home,

a familiar place, warm under electric blankets.

Over thirty years and what are we?

A couple-maybe from the eyes of others.

We are just two people in one house.

I cannot even imagine it being any better,

for us to cuddle, to whisper sweet words.

So this is how it ends? Together, alone.

Could I love again? Could you?

Would we even want to take the chance?

Or would we rather just lay safely?

Knowing how love hurts, how loss hurts

and not being willing to a the risk?

Dreaming of “what if?” but never finding out.

Love is an ember now, but Ice is still cold.

Comments (7) »

Winter’s Last Hoorah!

DSCN1870Snowflakes fall on my gloves and melt as I gently pluck a daffodil from the yard. I want to put the gloves up, coat in the closet. Spring, come soon, we need you!

Comments (4) »

Winter’s Fate

She wiped the tears upon her dress.

“I’ll take no more.” She did confess.

As he stood staring at the sky. He whispered to her, “Darling, why?”

“You leave when autumn’s just begun with furs, and grains and many guns. You stay until the melting snow drives you back home, more crops to grow.”

“I must.” he told her, gun in hand. “to sell our furs and crops again.”

“It does not take four months of cold to travel there and back, I’m told.”She glared at him with angry eyes as clouds approached in autumn’s skies.

“But weather makes the trip back home to dangerous to make alone.” She listened not to his protest, and brushed the dust from her worn dress.

“The children need you, so do I.  I cannot bear to watch one die, the way I did this season past, with no one here to help the rest.”

“I know.” He bowed his ruddy head. “I’ll find some other way instead.”

“John Griffith takes the trail nearby.” She told him through her misty eyes.

“Then I will ask if he will go, with me, through ice and cold and snow.” He walked to her, the children came. They gathered there, out of the rain.

“Tomorrow, I will go to town and look until I hunt him down.” He smiled and drew her near his chest.

She felt the heat of his warm breath, and knew this winter, they would stay, but not alone, sick and afraid.

Comments (8) »

Into the Cold

The stars dangle from silver strings,

Glistening limbs amidst the dreams.

Even the air looks cold outside,

My dreams, my hope, alone reside.

I let myself curl up in bed,

dreaming of warmth, a fire, instead.

And brush cold tears from flowers, dead..

Childhood dreams within my head.

Where in my heart has gone the day,

a rope of twine upon the sleigh?

The laughter, screams of children near,

Deep, in the distance, I hear it still.

I close my eyes and see the days,

when decades past, my children played.

My grandkids, now rush down the hill,

laughing as they roll and spill.

Winter, you are now so cold,

or is it that I now am old?

Winter days, and sparkling night,

The moon, the clouds the dark the light

My picture book in black and white.

Crumpled pages, dark and light.

Life’s so short, so sweet and mild.

I wish, again, to be a child.

Comments (10) »

The Barrister’s Ball

The house was gorgeous as the hanson pulled up into the circular drive. The horses were a bit restless in the blowing snow, the driver having to calm them so that Serafina and her soon-to be husband, Dalton emerged.

Serafina’s coats blew wildly around her dresses. Her bonnet barely holding on as Dalton held on to his new black tophat.

“I simply despise these extravagant events!” Serafina complined as the doorman bowed and let them in.

“Oh, Sera,” Dalton sighed, “It is only one night and being invited to a party at Sir Dellingam’s estate is something you simply don’t turn down if you want to be a Barrister in the town!”

Serafina sighed and handed her coat to the doorman, hanging on to her reticule as Dalton shook out his coat and handed it in as well.

They we motioned to a room glistening with the light of candles and lamps, a roaring fire warming the room a little too much. Several servants scuttled by with trays, offering drinks and cucumber sandwiches, tarts, and even a tray of chocolates.

Dalton noticed an associate from his firm across the room and lead Serafina toward him.

“Ah, Raymond!” Dalton said with a smile and slight bow, “May I present my future wife, Serafina?”

“ Very nice to meet you, my lady,” Raymond smiled and turned to his left. “This is my wife Abigail. I am sure you will become good friends in the years to come.”

After a few minutes of conversation and more that a proper amount of delicacies from the trays, Dalton whispered to Serafina, “Come, I have something to show you!”

With a look of suspense in her sparkling blue eyes, Serafina followed Dalton down a hall and through a door behind a stairwell. There they found themselves in a small library, with doors leading out outo a terrace.

Dalton, opened the door as the wind swept over them, immediately bringing her warm coat to Serafna’s mind.

“Where are we? She inquired.

With a sparkle in his eye he smiled, “A place quite alone within a crowed house.”

“How did you…” she started to say, but found her mouth sealed with those of her fiance’.

“Oh, my!” she smiled as she shivered a bit, both from the kiss and the cold of the wind.

“See, I told you such parties were not so terrible!” he laughed as he opened the door and hustled her back inside.

Sarafina shook the snow off of her hair, hoping the pins were not too far out of place from the wind and the stolen affection. She fluffed it a big and curled her arm through his as they returned down the hall to the party.

Suddenly, the fire seemed particularly attractive as they walked together and stood in front of it, their hands touching behind them as they warmed themselves.

“Maybe being the wife of a Barrister would not be so boring after all,” Serafina thought as she helped herself to another tart from the pro-offered silver platter.

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The Meaning of the Word

The sprinkling of soft snow through ancient pines-remember?

The ice sparkling on the lake like mirrored glass-remember?

Your gloved hand touching mine for the time-remember?

Those days seem so close, as if I could reach out and touch them, yet my heart knows that time has passed and life has changed, you are there and I am here, We were young and now are old. Still, somehow, that day, that place that touch will remain with me forever. It truly defines the word-remember.

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Bloodroot

She walked along the well traveled path, only mosses and a shy fern dared to decorate the ground. Underneath the aging oaks, she sat on a stone, wiping a cold tear from her cheek.

“Winter,” she thought. “I hate it,”. She found a lidless acorn and threw it down the bank. She watched as the acorn landed and rolled until it hit a log.

A blur of white peeked out from the edge of the bark. Struggling against the cold, she slid down the bank to see what it was.

“Bloodroot.” she smiled, spring would be here soon. She walked back down the path with a little more vigor. Her hands warmed by a ray of sun as she emerged from the woods.

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The First Flowers

The biter winds howls through the pines above us.

I walk, arms gripping my shoulders, down the hill.

There among the sharp spines of rosemary, the bare dirt,

A paperwhite has struggled through the soil.

Time passes, a few weeks later, I notice the buds of daffodills

and suddenly, it seems they are in full bloom.

With winter not wanting to say farewell, spring has forced his bitter wind away.

Comments (3) »

Memories of a Night’s Dim Light

creative writing prompt, fiction writing prompt, memoir writing prompt

The light flickered dimly on the dark, round table. She noticed the curve of the three legs, all sprouting from the tables underside. “What hand had carved these legs, “ she thought.  “What purposed did he have for the table when he carved it.”

She sat in the lone chair pushed up to the table and cupped her cold hands around the warmth of the flame.  It flickered, as if in protest, ands she moved her hands away just a bit, as the flame regained its strength.

Outside, the wind whistled in the night.  The quarter moon shone dimly in the window. There were no curtains to block the view of  the moon, a flash of stars, the outline of the Big Dipper.

For a moment, she sat quietly, contemplating her next move.  She had walked up the hill to the house her grandmother had been born in, searching for a place where her thoughts could flow freely and help her decided what to do.

She remembered the old radio she had brought here months before and walked to the shelf and turned it on. The radio hummed to life, a static in the background reminded her of the battery-powered radio she had listened to in bed at night as a child.

“The Geminid meteors will be visible tonight.” The radio announcer boldly spoke into the semi-darkness of the room.  She left the radio on, but returned to the table, remembering a long ago night when her father had come to her room, awakening her at 2 am.

“Come here, honey, I want to show you something.” he had whispered as he stroked her hair.  She had mumbled about being cold and sleepy as she slipped on her   and house coat and followed him outside.” Shivering, as he held her, she waited and waiting until she say a meteor streak by and then another.  That memory crept back into her mind as she lifted the candle and walked toward the door.

She sat the candle on the porch rail and walked into the field of dead December grass. Suddenly a brilliant streak of light flashed across the sky as a whip of wind made the candle’s flame shudder.

A smile crossed her face as another meteor appeared in the western sky. Her answer seemed so clear now, so obvious.  She shivered again, wrapping her arms around her to hold her sweater shut, reached over, gently picked up the candle and walked back inside.

The radio announcer was still humming out the news, but she wasn’t listening. She turned it off, blew out the candle and walked quietly out the door. As she walked back to the home she had lived in her whole life, she could see herself in that little house, reborn, renewed, refreshed. The light from the candle, the light in the sky , it was a sign. Yes, this would be her home.

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Hopeless Morning

One again, her hand searched for that annoying alarm button. If she could just roll over, sleep away another day with no promise.

Her bare feet curled up as they hit the cold hardwood floor, on this winter morning. She grabbed her fluffy pink robe, slipped her feet into worn slippers and shuffled aimlessly to the kitchen.

“Coffee,” she thought. “Maybe the steam of the coffee will brighten the day.”

She noticed the pattern of frost on the window as the coffee brewed. A drop of water slid down the window where the coffee pot warmed the etching of frost.

Nothing had changed, not a damned thing, Her hope melted, just like the frost on her window

Comments (6) »