It’s dark outside.

The world slumbers, all too comfortable to wake up, yet.

Some like you though, battle the waves of sleepiness for they have work to attend to.

Work, even if it’s still dark outside.

You grab your phone to just stop the incessant ringing.

I’m up, damnit.

You sit up as the world returns to blissful silence.

The cozy moment lingers for a second, when your face is hit by sharp air.

Shivering slightly, you rub your hands together to warm the frozen digits.

Time to get up.

You get out of bed, even as your entire body protests against it.

Quietly, you pad into the kitchen to put on a pot of tea.

The tea boils as you sluggishly go through your daily activities.

Pouring the tea into your favorite mug, you sit down for a moment.

Cradling the mug with both hands, you allow its warmth to seep into your fingers.

And for a while, it’s just you and the warm mug of tea– as you steal a few peaceful moments before the chaotic day begins...

here you are again; bringing with you

an array of blooms bursting with colour and fragrance, each magnificent in their own right. adorning trees once more in opulent garments, delightfully dancing in the rhythm of ocean tinged breezes. bringing with you the sweet ecstasy of warmth after the long tragic cold. here you are again; your subtle exuberance long-awaited in the frigid gloom. your song staunchly memorised and dreamily echoed in your absence..here you are again; breathing life into the air once more, the reason for pretty sundresses and joyous ice cream. inciting evening strolls guided by the splendour of scattered shards of light. here you are again, at last.

Been home away for months

But then the regular call.

The family fights.

Stolen jackets.

Mother calling a thousand times.

Father burning dinner.

They know I'm surely coming.

Taking my train.

Music everywhere.

Just like when i was little.

Crowded shopping.

What can i get for everyone?

Calling for a hot coffee.

I'm freezing the evening.

Suddenly walking inside a store.

Discount posters everywhere.

I can finally buy a gift for my little sister.

But then some new toy is up on the market.

I bet she is contemplating about it.

Oh damn, its a hundred dollars.

My rent price.

I will probably find something else.

Haven't passed a street without a fat grey man.

I finally got to see a ukulele physically.

I have forty missed calls.

Definitely mother.

She all gets impatient.

Been home for three days now.

Everything like it used to me.

New neighbor, Boy looks cute.

Doubled cookie baking.

We are kinda many.

Mother hooks me up

With the cute neighbhour

It's embarrasing

How the star can't fit the tree top

But he's suddenly there

Picking me up from my fall

But sadly, I'm more rainbows than i look.

#SEASON #WRITER #IMAGINATION #SONG #FAT-MAN #AUTHOR #WRITING #COLOR

I yawn,

I stretch,

I roll over,

Clinging to warmth

That hides, trapped, beneath my blankets.

After a while I force myself out,

Into the frigid air.

I shiver as it steals my warmth,

I wrap myself in my blankets,

An improvised shield,

And head upstairs.

Later, as I eat my breakfast,

I look out my window,

Watching the horizon as it changes from pure black to navy blue,

royal purple,

crimson red,

something orange,

Colors bouncing off of frost and thrown around by buildings.

I pull on my jacket,

Clothing myself in layers of fluffy fabric,

Sealing in warmth,

Protecting me from the frozen land outside.

As I head outside, I take a second:

Watch my breath billow in the late morning sunshine,

Hear the crackle of the nearby lake as the sun heats up the night air,

Feel my nose freeze, already beginning to stick together,

Smell the crisp scent of snow on the ground.

And as I start the long walk to my destination,

Snow starts to sprinkle from the sky,

(not enough to worry about my driveway,

and clearing it when I get home,)

But just enough to stretch out my tounge,

And catch one,

Tasting it before it melts,

A tiny pinprick of ice.

I can smell it coming, if I'm lucky that year. The frequency of rain slows. The days seem sad because they have to shut down earlier. Leaves fall like dry crispy papers.

The wind takes on unpredictable moods. Temperatures fluctuate and the cool days are appreciated. The trees begin to change into beautiful colors but not all of them. Ask an evergreen. I get a sense of preparing for winter.

Freezing. Land of cold, ice-coated,

people and animals coated

against ice.

There is a crystal in

a clock, my grandfather said. That is

how they tell time, refracted light and

endless ticking. This is the time of the

crystals.

Snowflake, synonym of singularity

and shining rarity, nature’s best

extraordinary differentiation,

this silent beauty that may kill.

Wasteland of white upon first look, but look

again –the birds whistle their tweeting lives in

reflected sun, and the planet shines back, a beacon

beckoning to the source of life.

Every color vivifies against the

frosted firs, screaming in endless verve at

surviving vivacity, sparkling laughter.

As the night falls, time stops –it’s too

cold for the clocks to tick or the ticks to

clock any prey. All is sweet hibernation,

nation of sleep, yet this is the killing cold.

Clusters of cuddling warmth

in caves and around hearth fires burning

against death, coddling the little ones closer.

Celestial ice shards into

stars and moonlight drips from the gutters.

Fluffed out deer crunch the snow softly,

and a child puffs out a fairy’s dream.

A blanket covers the ground, but not enough

to make it stick. It stays on the leaves

though well past midday, until the sun

hits the ground just right and the hope

disappears. People pull off jackets.

They continue to complain about the day, but

in the back of their heads they're happy

it's not cold out just yet.

silence

snow

and secrets

his frozen mustache

posing over

a car engine's ignition

covered in white

fluff that makes her

nostalgic but at what cost?

it's now too late

the car won't start

frozen

icy

and lost

They used to live there,

but now they're starting to leave.

They are floating

being carried by the wind.

Some are free and whole

others are crumbled.

They are diverse.

An array of colors.

When they settle,

and they gather

pure joy is created.

The air is cool

and the sun begins to disappear quicker.

The things in nature

all around us

that give us air

lose their beautiful coat.

The coat that floats down

And is carried by the wind.

My skin feels like dry silk.

My body is so warm and my blanket has fallen prey to the chill in the air.

My cup of black tea is burning hot and my tongue is going to have to deal with it.

I want to watch the sunset as I sip my tea, so I step out on to the porch.

I take a sip and watch as the wind twirls a trail of sand in a cone shape gracefully before it lowers the sand particles and comes rushing my way.

I hold my hand up to shield my face from the incoming biting cold wind.

The wind dances away from me just as I feel a painful tingle on my lips.

My lips are painfully dry, even though I recall putting on a layer of vaseline before putting on a layer of orange flavored lip stick.

Oh well, a sip of tea should help.

I raise my mug up for a sip.

My tea is stone cold.