Winter

by fallenjedipadawan

Samuel Roth can't help but love the winter. He always enjoys the summer with Grace but winter is the time when he feels the most alive. A poem of a Sam with a different perspective.

I've never understood the novelty of summer.

Don't get me wrong,

I enjoy:

fresh grass tickling my bare feet,

Golden sun warming the pages of books I read,

Warm nights alone with my music,

Sun tanned hands rough from garden work and caressing guitar strings,

Being lulled to sleep by the droning of insects in the dark nights.

Breezy, cotton dresses, flip-flops, and swimming in mountain lakes.

All of these things I like

but none make me feel

so alive.

In the summer each breath is forgotten,

running is a labor,

my skin is taken for granted.

I am a marionette,

pulled through the motions,

lead by a distant puppet master,

never feeling anything.

But with the

first frost,

first freeze,

first snow,

I come awake.

Dead lungs take their first breath

and sightless eyes open for the first time.

And I feel like

I'm alive.

Others hate winter, don't understand my love for it.

They don't enjoy:

Cold snow creaking under their boots,

Frosty breaths hanging in the twilight sky,

Nights where the sky is so cold and clear you can see every star out there,

Hands, pale and white, tucked safely away in mittens,

Night noises muffled by a deep snow, the lonely sounds of the wildlife occasionally jerking you awake.

All of these things I love

because they make me feel

so alive.

Because in winter each breath stings the lungs into awareness,

running through the snow is freeing,

the cold against the skin is a constant reminder that you are alive.

I am free and I am wild,

I wander through silent woods,

I am lead by this achingly, beautiful loneliness,

and it is here that I feel everything.

Because

Winter

Is

What

Brings

Me

To

Life.