Winter Came Today
Yes it is only Autumn, technically, but yesterday Winter pushed her away and arrived in a gale, weather (yes that is deliberate) to stay or not I don't know, I suspect Autumn will return for a while though, before winter truly takes hold. The day before we had a lot of rain but only yesterday did we get the winter air... I couldn't really get a photo of the wind or Winter so here is my best with words and some photos of the rain and hail the day before.
This is not really a poem, but neither is it quite normal prose either.... but hopefully it will paint a picture with words for you anyway.
Winter Came Today
In a wall of rushing wind winter came in, no slow creeping cold, but with full force he charged in to claim victory. Autumn fled. Winter roared; sounding like the pounding of a great waterfall. He came howling through the leaves, thrashing at the world, beating it to pieces, like a waterfall beating at the rocks it falls upon, wearing them away. Trees tossed their heads branches flying, manes of battle chargers, standing against the onslaught.
Grass bends, ripples, as though rank upon rank of light footed, invisible, soldiers pass over it. Winter tugs at the chargers manes, bits of hair tear loose, branches come crashing to the ground. Leaves and strips of bark fly through the air, shrapnel.
Like plumes of smoke, or gas, clouds scud across the troposphere. Grey and green tinged they fly, obscuring the sun for a moment. Light flickers, a morse code, sun flashing out from the clouds and being hidden again. Bright, bringing a little warmth, off, on again, off longer this time, cold settles, clouds part, they come together. Long, long short, short long, dazzling light, then obscured by grey.
Trees sway as Winter stretched out his long fingers, groping at the trunks until they bend, and bend. They straighten trying to stand, then bend towards the ground, hunching like old, crooked backs. Bark and leaves are stripped away leaving trees standing bare and naked to face the tempest. The cold of winter returns with the clouds.
The great tall ones reach out their arms as if to hold back Winter, but instead it rushes, past and through, an insubstantial, uncatchable thing. The cold sets in, biting wind. It rasps through trees, around houses, down throats, so cold it makes me catch at my breath, lest it take that too. I stumble as Winter hits.
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