Cold around all things.
The frost wins, slowly but surely, all resistance.
It has faithful allies, fog, rain, snow.
Winter in these days of poor light, filled with darkness.
The Nature defends itself and falls asleep, it knows how to wait for better seasons.
I do not.
Cold inside me, in my bones, I shiver, I can not get warm.
It won my feeble defenses, because I’m tired out.
I have traveled the summer, running, I walked into the fall and I came to this hour.
In these long cold nights where the moon is sovereign, crowned in the mist.
Numb soul, so upset and surprised by the coming of the freeze.
It has covered even the invisible, givin’ it a shape , still uncertain.
It has the strength of a raging sea this cold. I’m like an abandoned lighthouse, and I wonder if I could resist these huge waves.
The sun with its heat, which could bring new energy, and give me strength,
it’s weak, it is only a small opal in the sky, visible only when the clouds grant respite.
Will the spring come again, this time?
_Hugh S. Graves_
Northern Italy, Jan. 2012
© Max S. Volonté