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