There is a stillness found in Winter.
When the cold bites at my cheeks,
And billions of snowflakes follow the same descent towards the ground.
There is something about that kind of stillness,
One where the only sound heard is the whistles of the wind,
When the snow falls.
I feel as if every moment is a photograph in this cold world.
My breath freezes in the air, and I watch it fly up into the heavens.
Will it reach you up there in the grey sky and clouds?
Up there where I convince myself you are guiding me as an angel.
Will my breath remind you of the warmth of life?
Or of the lack of it?
There’s a stillness found in Winter.
