Tracy

17

"Closed Doors"

A soft layer of white blankets the world, yet
Acts as a pillow to let the great Earth rest its head,
Tired after creation. The land misses the green,
but makes do with the sheet of reflected blue.
Trees reach up to the sky, their arms long
And skinny, famished from the cold, stripped.
We shut the cold out yet relish in the snow,
Build companions from the ground, magic.
Come May, when the buds are sure to sprout,
The flowers bloom, the insects awaken, water
In its most fluid form kissing the earth once more,
We will be itching to shut out the warmth,
Closing the door to the life outside
In favor of a cool drink and air conditioning.