The wind ushered in a chill
Whispering across the empty streets
Caressing the leaves of moving trees
Lingering, the hand of winter remains.
Remnants of early bloomers fall
Defeated to the cold earth
Bits of dirt and dead grass
Mingle with the crimson petals
I find myself longing for spring
Aching for the warmth of the sun
Recoiling from the icy pangs
As winter hovers over, unmoving
Tendrils of smoke glide by
Leaving paths of ash behind
Along with the scent of clove
Comforting with thoughts of warmth