Chill

I think about those moments,
that winter flooded the earth
and painted the land white.

A blank canvas to start a story,
of the birds, buildings, and bravery.

Why don't you glimpse those flakes,
and tell me what first strucks your eyes.
Is it that day of baking in the santa claus pajamas?
The morning you tumbled in the frozen ocean of your backyard as the dog lands on your chest?
Or the night you sat cross-legged staring at that holy chritmas tree, not a word needed to be said?

Think about the chill that climbs your spine
and how you only wonder when you'll see that winterland again next year.

Remember winter is a symbol of death, but after death comes birth.

And that's how the cycle moves