Poetry-The-Seasons

The cold air Hits me instantly, spontaneously, As I step out the door. My breath Puffs on the cold air in little white clouds, Forming a quick wisp of silky fog. Snow Soft, white, like winter’s blanket, Spirals from the sky, landing on The creases of my shirt, Landing on my eyelashes, Creating a cold white barrier between my eyes And the world ahead. Ice It covers the water on the street In a cold, hard shell of whiteness Causing my boots To slip and slide over it. The bleak, black skeletons of trees Sway solemnly in the harsh, snowy wind. Cold. Claire Yoon MacDonald, 10Bexley, Ohio