A short poem about the love of winter, inspired by Claude Monet’s ‘The Magpie’:

As frost licks the tips of grass,

painting her icy fingernails,

across once soft and gentle land,

my breath hitches.

A sharp stab,

cuts my lung.

My chin furrowing,

deep into my chest.

Inviting white blankets,

litter the rooftops.

As people gape,

fearing her beauty.

My hand touches her,

crumbling yet strong.

As she numbs my fingers,

with her poisoning glare.

As I walk,

flakes permeate my eyes,

forcing my vision down.

Despite the longing to turn up to the sky.

At once I fear,

this icy mother,

neglecting her soft greens,

for her ruthless white.

Yet I long for her to stay,

perplexed,

astounded,

by her grip on the land.

As birds raise their feathers,

crowding their beaks with fluff.

I too, don my woollen armour,

reassured by natures resilience.

Home becomes sanctuary,

to escape her wrath.

Flushed cheeks and running noses,

become unanimous with warmth.

Until the once powerful mother,

becomes coaxed by the warmhearted sun,

to return to the sky,

leaving but a puddle in her wake.

So we now grieve the snow,

praying for the return,

of her icy fingers,

to tightly grasp our wonder again.

Image: Boulevard Des Capucines via their website Claude Monet Gallery