A Writer's Winter Night

Breathing in and holding that sharp, crisp air in my lungs,

Letting go and seeing the fogginess of my breath trickling behind me

Taking steps forward and seeing my footprints,

The shape of my shoes buried deep in blank, white snow

Walking alone in the dark

In the silence that has been unbroken for years

Looking down at the grey cement sprinkled with frosty snowflakes

And noticing the multicolored light coming from screens

Cold on the outside but warm on the inside

Surrealistic nature like hot chocolate on a cold winter day

The night is sweet with a golden silence and glowing ambiance

My eyes taking in every sight with a child's delight

The white snow so fluffy and light

Almost fantasy-like and unreal

Yet there is nothing fictitious about this scene

The beauty of a writer's winter night