Tuesday, 20 December 2011

Day Twenty: 'Winter' by Zelda Chappel


I wake up to the smell of yesterday’s coffee

now cold with its tobacco-like smell and watch

through cold glass as spiders build their webs

between the fronds where sage flowers, once

purple lit, now whither in the change of seasons.

The sun becomes refracted through clouds,

thick and round behind the falling shards,

as they project themselves with soft edges and

splay out towards the dampened ground, warmth

long absent, burying light in lieu of spring.

Winter plunges the world into a premature

darkness, the infrequency of the moon’s light

offering little but a bareness tinged blue with cold

so stark it turns the world to monochrome, colour

drained and left to hibernate until Spring’s return.

Zelda Chappel

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