A First Frosty Day In Winter

A First Frosty Day In Winter

I stand outside,

feeling the air shift,

cold rising slowly,

touching my skin.

The evening waits,

holding its breath,

ready for change,

ready to fall.

Leaves tremble above,

colours dulling fast,

edges thin and tired,

letting go quietly.

They drift through light,

landing on soft ground,

carrying the weight

of fading days.

The sky tastes iron,

sharp against my tongue,

nights growing longer,

mornings moving slow.

Fields lie still,

grass stiff and cold,

frost drawing thin lines

along each blade.

Smoke curls from chimneys,

wood scent in the air,

stirring quiet memories,

warm rooms long gone.

A crow calls out,

alone against the sky,

its wings cut cold,

its voice marks change.

Shadows stretch wider,

wind sharpens its teeth,

clouds gather heavy,

all waiting still.

I breathe it in,

stillness filling my chest,

colours fading slowly,

warmth slipping away.

The last light falls,

night folding itself in,

holding the world close,

telling me change has come.

Cold gathers round me,

inch by inch it climbs,

trees stand like guards,

keeping the memory of days.

Wind threads through branches,

thin and ancient,

drawing the dark closer,

making space for night.

Stars appear sharp,

small and steady,

a quiet promise

in the frozen air.

I stand rooted,

letting the season speak,

autumn loosening its hold,

winter stepping forward.