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