Is this winter

A poem about my favorite holiday.

What makes winter winter?

The coldness of the outside?
The way the cold nips at your nose,
how it caresses your cheeck with it's icey touch?

Could it be the leaves?
The way they dance outside your window,
wanting to met you just that bad?

Or perhaps the jackets?
The way they hug your body
with that secret oath to keep you warm?

So what makes winter?

The hot drinks?
The way they'll comfort you,
with their kind warmth?

Could it be the music?
The way soft ballad's reassure you,
as if it wants to tell you their always there for you?

Or perhaps the smell?
The way the air as a tingle to it,
as if it want's to say I love you with only it's silent wishes?

Looking on it,
perhaps you don't need anything to tell it's winter?
Perhaps you just need to feel the love that embraces you from all around,
just knowing the season loves you could be enough to know it's winter.

Is that how you tell it's winter?