TUESDAY WRITING CONVERSATION

 

 

December

by Anonymous.

 

Overnight the frost moves in, spreading silver on the grass and copper in the trees.

You contemplate the world through chilly windowpanes, your breath making clouds upon the glass

You long to stay in all day.

If only you had been born a bear!

You’d sleep from now until the crocuses bloomed and the grass turned soft underfoot again.

But then, you’d miss the season’s riches: it’s warm golden feast and children’s laughter.

So throw back the covers and find your slippers.

Prepare a cup of hot, dark coffee.

Rub the sleep from your eyes, and hello to the new born winter.

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