[Pre]Maturity

The first day of snow
came prematurely.
Not like frosting, dusting the tips of your eyelashes for sweet flirty blinking and thawing inside by the soft glow of warm, holiday love.
Not like chestnuts roasting on an open fire, the frightful weather Michael and Frank croon sweetly about, or lightly fleckling the front driveway the day after Christmas so you can't drudge to any store for sales or exchanges
but instead have to spend the whole day with cocoa and cider and board games and baking and late-coming cards.
No,
it came today, sleeting and cold and it changed colors on the way down,

white—> gray—>  brown—> until it was just the color i know as wet.
two days before Halloween.
It came bearing no gifts, no sweet escape or play time or [snow]men or [snow] angels or sleds or pleasantly rosy cheeks.
It came swirling and menacing, threatening and gave red, bitten cheeks and cold, freezing cold---
The world was unprepared. No one's coat was thick enough, no one's gloves able to ward off the buzzing flakes—they may as well have had rocks in them, the flakes—they were so assaulting and insulting.
Maybe the sky got confused, and is as excited for Christmas as I am.
But like all things that come prematurely,
what should be beautiful and sweet is instead bothersome at best.
cold, biting,
bitterly disappointing,
and leaves one
completely empty.

 

 

p.s. I am still going private. This is your last and final chance to send me your email address : )