Swirls

Wind, bellows and snow shovels

Banks, produce fortunes of white currency

Me, I sit in a warm bed

While the cold invades

Sliding through the cracks in my walls

Into my lungs as I sleep

Winter is a state of mind 

Just as any other season or emotion

Barren trees, stale thoughts

Dark days, dark ways

However, as dark as they may seem 

The days always get longer 

Therefore brighter

And warmer

While my toes may be numb

And the days may be static

Beauty is still beheld

Where the cold turns my skin to glass

I know it will pass

I rush outside

As the snow is shoveled

I hustle inside 

Where the wind is muffled

To huddle under blankets

To appreciate warm comforts

And dream of the warm days of summer