Trees reach out with frozen fingertips for their lost leaves,
placed in the eye line of the powder blue sky,
the moon still shyly smiling across from the proud sun,
as the last of the birds go to their summer homes.
Winter has yet to arrive,
but her influence is everywhere.
Frost throws herself across the floor,
claiming the calm streets as snow circles the sky,
with her eyes aimed for all of us.
Snow has sunk into the ground,
beaten and defeated by the soft rays of the sun.
I stare, seated in my kitchen,
at the pleasant pink and blue that peeks from behind the branches of a healing tree,
a tree that has weathered the winter, spurred on by the promise of return and renewal.
The sun rises,
and I rise with it,
birds hide in branches,
singing long forgotten songs,
about a hopeful spring and a happy summer,
as I step into the shower,
washing off my worries,
and hurrying towards hope,
like the healing tree in my back garden.