I care not for the colour of summeror the dense heat it brings.
Instead,
it is the chill of an orange autumn morning,
the early, rich darkness of winter,
bitter wind that coaxes tears
and lifts soft coos to the ears,
that makes my soul tranquil.
Not new buds on trees
but the frost that clings so fervently
to stark branches which thank
falling snow for all its gentle kisses.
The silent streets and short days,
the misty sky and white nights,
the angelic sparkle of snow nestled in hair,
are what bring my spirit stillness.