Dreary haze
in the early morning
December rain.
Reawakened sun rays
dance across
tree branches,
bringing their apricity,
trying to break through
the gloomy greys,
to provide some brightness
to the day before
leaving oh so quickly.
Bleak and frigid,
still and ridged.
The outside solid
like ice packed
freezer stacks,
air too cold to move.
To breathe.
It cracks as you
brush your hands
through
the thin glass sheen.
As you break into a different reality.
A window into the snow globe view.
The forming of a winter wonderland,
as ice rivers start to crystallise before you.
Water droplets freeze in time,
like the clocks have slowed to a stop
before your eyes
and the hands are too cold to drop,
but as of now
it’s just glacial, inhospitable,
a window into a place
that is inadmissible.
Characterless, colourless.
Nonetheless
it’s a ponderous place to sit
and look into the loneliness.
See the thin strands
of beauty, the miniscule details
that pop with delicacy. The extraordinary
that mingles with the ordinary,
making order and the disorderly
become magically otherworldly.
The crisp reflections from a cobweb,
the glistening shards hanging overhead,
the thin white dust on the glittery ground.
The way sound is muffled,
distant,
quiet not loud.
I realise in that moment so profound
that the winter wonderland
is almost finished, what a treat.
Just needs a few feet
of snow to make it complete.
Thanks for reading
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