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