I woke to a chill
and misty morning.
Snuggled in bed,
my open window blew
a raw breeze
over my warm
and still-sleepy form.

I will not close it
until it snows.

Outside, silver needles,
icy cold,
fell, point-first
from the swirling
grey skies.

Outside, the wind
blew fitfully,
at the ragged leaves
of the swaying trees
that creaked and moaned
under such force.

I pitited the poor
creatures who were out
in such weather,
glad that I was safe
and warm inside.

I meant to go back
to sleep,
snuggled under
my heavy quilts.
But the breeze
and raw weather
refreshed me,
and made me wide awake.

So instead, I lay there
and listened to the wind
and the rain
and the rushing trees
and dreamed,
wide awake.