you know that it's going to happen soon,
not quite sure if it'll be in the evening,
maybe it'll snow in the afternoon.
Cup of coffee in hand,
balancing act with bags and coats and keys,
front door of the shop finally open,
shivering, snow flurries drifting in the breeze.
A chill up the spine as it hits 2,
trees and roads and awnings and parking meters,
everywhere a thin covering of heaven-sent cotton,
maybe, this Christmas, it won't be so bad for you?
Street lamps flicker alive after the sun is down,
sliding down the boulevard, ice built up thick,
home under the roof by yards of yards of white,
fireplace and wood, candle lit,
flame jumping from the wick.
Curl up in the bed under blankets and blankets and blankets and blankets of soft warmth,
one day down the next to go,
small rest of hibernation until the sol rises,
another night another holiday another chance to pull through.
