Reads: 255  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A greeting well past due.

Submitted: January 31, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 31, 2008



Leafless trees twist their arms to a sky segmented with cloud tones of blue to grey in the silver haze of half-past seven. Trunks spiral upward in a permanent stance of tortured agony, bending and resting their wary tree souls to the cold dirt that clothes their roots. Snaking strands thirsting for mother nourishment from that earth shared with winter grass, sparse in a pallid shade of ailed green, with bushes windblown and bare.

I tasted Winter's kiss last night, his drear danced upon my face, his cold gusts hugged my frame that stood defiant to greet him with open arms and spread fingers as he arrived to stay awhile. His touch goosebumps; a caress so icy that it chills my blood to a steady pace and my breath to five second intervals. It felt as if he could hoist me up and allow me to soar within his all-traversing body, shimmering like the icy frost of morning rooftops. To look down upon mankind and laugh with the knowledge and humor of my dear friend who saw through me a mind to teach, an able body that would appreciate his insight and twenty-five degree breath.

Nearly frozen still but peaceful and calm, my shallow exhales taint his with temporary clouds of faux-smoke. To be callow and pretend a cigarette would be most uncouth, all-knowing he can shun the most innocent intent with a scoff and cold shoulder.

Oh, but he will nurture!

With his glacial bite he can chisel mountains of ice, a flick of a finger garnishes entire buildings in icicles, his delicate wisps of hair drape the sky in an azure blue, a gleam in his frozen eye prospects the advent hope of snow on the Texas horizon. He'll tease with sleet, torment with frozen dew upon shaded lawns, no one can persuade otherwise, he savors our eager squirm.

He breathes me and you, smiles with the sun and lurks with the moon, all-arrogant, numb of emotion, but forevermore amorous in bringing us all closer.

© Copyright 2019 mailwork. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

More Other Short Stories