Winter’s Touch

Fat flakes of snow
fall on my face, my lens,
disrupt focus –
each icy formation
a gentle kiss.

Oh, Winter,
you crafty old man,
winning me over
with the purity of white,
and cold, wet, caresses.

(Sarah S is hosting in the dVerse pub tonight with the prompt: touch.  Photo taken today on our street.)

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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

48 thoughts on “Winter’s Touch”

  1. We do not get much snow here in Seattle. Occasionally, but mostly rain. We have many feet of snow in thr mountains but i miss watching the snow gently blanket the ground. Ths was wonderful poem. I could feel the invigorating chill and the kiss of the snowflakes. Thank you!

    …rob from Image & Verse

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  2. You’ve had snow already! I’m not a huge fan of snow; it goes back to an incident in early childhood. I enjoy pictures of it and poems about it but will gladly stay indoors and look out at it whenever we get it here, which isn’t often as we live quite close to the coast. Your poem made me smile, though, V.J., especially the snowflakes on the lens disrupting focus and Winter as a crafty old man. 🙂

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  3. You’ve caught that feeling of excitement I get from the first snowfall. I guess the magic wears off, but we don’t get much here! I love the second stanza, the personification, and the cold wet caresses – maybe only winter can do that?

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