In Defence of Winter.

The brightness of a summer sun blinds my eyes

while it's warmth spreads over the land.

It seeps into my soul and into my bones

that once had been frozen by winter's cold hand.

And I bathe in the fragrance of newly mown grass

as I watch young birds on the wing.

And I smile in the early morning

when I hear the blackbirds sing.

I grow tired very quickly of July and summer

with it's heat and it's sun.

And I find my heart yearning

for beautiful autumn.

"Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness"

a line from a poem brings a smile to my face.

As I picture the colours,

reds, golds and yellows.

Ripe fruit on the trees,

dark evenings, crisp leaves.

Sharp autumn smells.

Not death, merely sleep.

Wild geese flying home,

a promise to keep.

September, October

and into November.

Yes, it's winter I long for

the frost and the snow.

The clear, crisp air.

The wind in my hair.

The sharp lights.

The dark nights.

The trees dead and bare.

Yes, I yearn for November and then for December.

A dark, brewing storm and downpouring rain.

And I yearn for an evening in front of the fire,

warming and glowing, with each burning ember.

Closed windows and curtains.

A warm, cosy room.

A cat sleeps on my knee,

as I sip hot whiskey,

A corner lamp lit to banish the gloom.

The flame in the grate, the flame in the glass,

I have two perfect shades in amber and ember

in my beautiful, cosy, perfect December.

The end.

A. Sheridan june 2013.