Autumn ignites a fiery death spiral.
Winter waits in respectful silence.
In the interim hush, the darkest nights
Herald the newborn sun.
Winter quietly steps forward as we close the blinds
And make tomorrow's careful plans.
We awaken early for work or school,
Mistaken, we're sure;
Only a Sunday morning would
Be so still.
Winter watches, amused,
As indignant surprise and rattling plows
Mingle with youthful delight and scraping sleds.
Feral cats stare at us,
Assigning blame for this outrage.
Winter sighs, depleted.
Sunlight, too brilliant for comfort,
Blossoms from the clouds in a southwest wind.
"Good thing," we remark,
In a nod to those who wait outside
The rescue mission across the street.
© Judith C Evans 2009
[Submitted to Thursday Poets Rally #46...join us!]