By Allan David Smith-Reeve
From my bedroom window
I look up the driveway between the lilac hedges
north over open fields
from where winter arrives
most days She arrives with her weather
silent and naked
I have to look for her in treetops
But today She rushes at my doorstep
Howling between the gaps in my door and windowed defenses
And declares herself clothed in the snow she’s gathered up
with skirts swirling spiraling.
She revels in her wintry wear
Freezing the blood of trees and them that hides there
Wailing her warnings, her icy cold truth, of death come quick
to each and all
in Her timing
I lie back down into my bed
Comforted by the warmth of knowing
that the sleep I enjoy is but a sweet taste
-her cold winter’s rushing to remind me –
of what awaits.
- January 2023
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