raising goosebumps | part 1. fever
The cold air is unmoving, except for when the wind thrusts it violently making me bend in its wake. Trees mockingly bloom with snowball cotton tops. Gale force winds throw the storm door off its hinges as I make my way outside. I hear the birds who have come back to our yard to sing, though the snow clings, swaddling the muddy earth. Could it be that winter is my growing season as I am blasted by aching pains? Bitter surroundings intensify, yet what is alight inside me radiates warmth back against the icy shivers. Slowly, daylight extends as the cold months tick tock. Sunsets shift further towards due west as its arcing trajectory swoops. A lingering golden rim on the horizon hovers like a tally mark above the distant tree line, as I count the days until the peepers share their song. I could wish it all away, but instead I find myself humming a harmonizing rhythm to this turbulent season. Glimmers emerge in the dark, catching light and sparkling, bringing me to notice the beauty. The bridge will come when the first forsythia blooms, signaling the end to winter’s fever.
