Winter breaks the season in two.
The snap of twigs gone dry without their verdant coverings.
The crunch of ice on the black top road against the wheels of my car.
The blanket of quiet that settles the world in a fozen standoff.
Winter breaks the day in two
Night comes early as the moon hangs among the spiky limbs of the tree
like a paper lantern, outside my window.
Inside is winter too.
It is the warm haven of sipping Earl Grey tea
and the wood crackling beneath vibrant colored flames warming the tips of my toes.
Winter breaks the splendor of color,
The other seasons wear so well.
Winter is the intervening space of a blank canvas
With only the occasional red and green splashed on during holidays.
Winter breaks the chatter of failure,
Beckoning me to sit still and ponder,
Among the dead and buried leaves of the past.
What beauty will rise in spring from forgiving my mistakes.
Winter stays long enough to break in two
The welcome it bestows on the heels of autumn
and the slighty warm embrace of spring.
Winter goes, grudgingly giving way to new life.
As it dons its thinning, silvery coat.
Clasping my hand once more with a cold embrace, it bids adieu.
Victoria Yeary 