December
Dark early mornings
Sometimes the sun comes out
And sometimes it gets stuck
Behind grey clouds
People are bundled up in down
Holding steaming mugs
It’s another day
Of Montreal winter
I never liked the winter
Hated the cold
The slush
The ice
But the first fall
Of snow
Always takes my breath
Away
A white blanket
Of fallen crystals
So beautiful
So soft
I forget to hate
My gloves come off
Fingers reaching
To hold
Delicate little figures
I am transfixed
And sad at the same time
In a few hours
Pure white
Will turn in to
slushy grey
