When the sun goes down

skies turn purple like their own aurora borealis,

though too far south.

***

I wait for the snow to fly

winds to howl and frost to form

upon every windowpane.

***

A storm approaches, but I am not discontented.

For some reason this time of year

a veil lifts, people look each other in the eyes,

some daring to smile

***

we wonder like children

we wait for miracles

we hope so tenuously

not to be disappointed

***

the silence is enough

for there is warmth

and songs and hope...

***

yet, will what we plan each year

live up to the expectations dwelling in our hearts?

afraid they may not, we walk lightly

as if upon frozen ice stretching ocean-wide

when the veil is lifted we are willing to risk our hearts