'Winter'
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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