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I was just in a little town in Illinois, Dixon. Here is a poem about my response to my first northern winter. As always, my fellows, enjoy.
*****
"Wintery Woods"
The gray mist was chill,
as it snaked between
the whitened ground and the blackened trunks,
more alive than all the creatures in the slumbering forest.

The ancient oaks,
bare of all their leaves,
stood naked in their sleeping place,
ebony against the ivory snow,
their twisted limbs uplifted to the sky,
as if beseeching the sun to burn away
their burdening loads.

And the prayers paid off,
for the Sun, late and sleepy,
rose into the sky,
dissipating the serpentine fog
and melting away the icy crystals,
by his mere presence.

But sundown was bound to come,
and here, unlike its warmer counterpart,
the sun dove into a bed of yellow and purple
early--only to rise late tomorrow.

In the absence of that gleaming figure,
the mist returned, and with a vengeance.
If all is silent,
the trees whisper their anguish to one another,
as midnight makes its move.

What's this?
The Moon rises full and round,
shedding silvery light
from her voluptuous frame,
and turning the world into a wintery paradise,
as Heaven's frozen tears fall in gentle fluff
onto the quiet, sleepy grove.

It's not so bad,
the trees yawn to one another and return to rest,
dreaming of Spiringtime,
in Winter's bosom.
*****
Hope you enjoy this! Comments?
-Valens

Thanks Crystals. I'm about ready for sunny Florida again.

Anyone else?

Vale,
-LD

Hmm, yes, I see. I'll try to do something about it. Thanks, Glory.
~Valens