winter

Dear Winter,

Here is what I know about you:

 You always seem to last longer than you really do.

I know your ways...
I feel your touch upon my skin and your spirit within my bones.

I always resist you, but now I have learned to embrace you because it just

seems easier than wasting my energy longing for anything else.

I always forget that I have to adjust to the little amount of light you give to me.

You shroud the world in blankets of black and white and grey,
reducing color to a memory.

I grow tired of you. And I grow tired of talking about how tired I am of you.

I know there is life sleeping under your surface, waiting to spring forth in perfect timing.

And you always seem to test my faith in Spring, my belief that you are just a season.

Only a season.

(Sometimes a very long season.)

But then I am amazed when you actually do subside and Spring blooms true.

Spring always blooms true.