Cold days are beauty's poetry, for they command the still moment and invite the eye to find the eternal in the simple. For in these times of frost there is wonder to be found in the humble rain bead and the icy puddle. There is time to reflect upon the gift of warmer days and realise that they are a thing to cherish and savour.
My breath rises and eddies in cold wintry wind as if Van Gough air-brushed it there. I love the summer time, yet these cold days are their own special thing.
I have not the power to command cold days to become warm, yet I can light my inner fire and teach you how to light yours. So come, angel, come. Come learn how to be safe and cozy for all your days. Come home to those believe that love is eternal and can walk their talk.
Cold days have a way of chilling the bones, of seeking out the merest spark of heat to steal. The cold camps out as robber who has come to take possession of the entire abode, warming its thieving hands at the heart, its hearth. Here it sits, gremlin grin, believing it can remain forever, forgetting that the seasons are set upon a steady clock.