Winter

Wind blowing cold through the trees howls in my ear.

A voice, barely audible, whispers, and I strain to hear it.

Wind blows cold and snow is coming now...

small, white, flakes...

floating

flitting

flying through the air.

Winter has it's own music

but I find it like the sound of nails on a chalkboard.

Rain, rain, go away, but don't turn into snow and ice.

Wind howling, biting as it cuts like a knife against my cheeks.

I lose my breath, huddled against the pain of the days without sunshine.

Spring will come.

My heart knows it full well, even as I question it in the seemingly never-ending chill.

And the wind howls, and the snow flies...

Oblivious to my desires.