And here we are, snow come
and melted, the same cool
gray as ever. This damp
feels like the smell of home
after a time away, familiar
become new, for just a moment,
novel, known. And here
we are, the year dwindling,
eternal northern nights.
Breath like a cloud. It isn’t
sadness yet, but something
more rare. We had a true
blizzard once, trees felled
by ice. Numbering the days:
what was, what will. Turning
in early. Silent night.
OPTIONAL POETRY 
As ever, a beautiful quality of quietness, in which ‘breath like a cloud’ felt almost like a newly minted observation. And exhale. 🙂
No snow yet in the U.K. but plenty of sparkling frost. Yeah. We um, talk about the weather. A lot. ~ P ~
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Thank you, Pola! we seem to write about the weather, a lot 🙂 it seems benign but so often is not.
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Ethereal and perfect. Loved this.
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thank you!
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Hey !! Nice to meet you .Nice poem
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thank you for stopping by!
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no worries,it’s my pleasure
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