Beach Writer in the Rocky Mountains

Despite my protest, you have come again.

I suspected that you would.

Your cold air, gray skies, frosted windowpanes

greet me every day. I hissed with contempt.

My body hurts when you are here.

Winter.

Nothing grows. Earth soundly sleeps.

I am weary and need a nap every day.

My bed is piled high with blankets.

My stomach growls constantly.

People everywhere are grouchy.

Winter.

I went for a walk today, hoping to be mistaken.

Alas, no. The air was biting, bitter, and stinging.

Snow and ice crunched beneath every step.

I have no doubt, your stay will be long.

Unwelcomed, yet, you will have your way.

Winter.

My breath froze in crystals. My lungs ached.

I did not want my artic walk to linger.

But I had to catch my breath. I sat on a bench

too cold for humans. My contempt grew.

It would suit me if you never came.

Winter.

A gray squirrel poked his head out from a tree trunk

and smirked at me. You put him up to it. I know.

The furry critter bound out on a limb overhead.

He jumped several times. Heavy wet snow

dropped on my head. How rude!

Winter.

A frigid wind whistled and pierced my ears.

My teeth rattled in my head, and I shivered.

I grumbled aloud. My disdain was certain.

The sky darkened. Snowflakes gently fell.

Thunder clapped, and my bench shook.

Winter.

I arose and resumed walking homeward.

My feet, nose, and fingers cold and numb.

Though we be not friends, every year

you and I do this agonizing dance.

No doubt, neither of us will surrender.

Winter.

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(copyright 5/11/2022 - all rights reserved)

(Photo source: Facebook page, Dreams and Hope)

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