Today,
The snow is dry and it burns your skin.
The wind blows it in swirls
across the yard,
the dock,
the bridge,
and into the rolling waves of that oh, so determined lake.
I can see it fighting alongside the wind
so that maybe together the could conquer the bitter cold.
But the icey snow hits like razors.
And inevitably the lake will freeze,
and no matter how hard the wind may try it cannot repel the steady flow.
The ducks are huddled together
but the rage of the water leaves them in disarray.
The ground is white,
and the brown trees are still peaking through,
and I can see the cold shiver with in every wave and the water is slowly becoming a timid blue.
I can see the beaty, it is breath taking.
But it's the beauty in the break-down.

Inside, the walls are being coated with a toasty terracotta.
The light from outside inspires reflection,
And the warmth with in the paint could never cancel that out.
There is an antique desk,
a hunter green carpet,
and four well-lived walls
and every one of them has a story to tell.
I lay back and I close by eyes,
but this melancholy light still shines through to my vision.
My heart is heavy on my sleeve.
My skin is raw and my eyes are bruised,
but sleep is no remedy.
Not today.