21 December 2012
The white-grey sky, The tree's inside, The cloudy breath, Frost in a tide.
The bauble's red, The music's loud, The cold to bones, The mist, a shroud.
The happiness, The love and cheer, The yelling kids: 'Christmas is here!'
The end of year, The golden star, The blackest ice, That covers tar.
The movie's on, The fire's ablaze, Just once a year, We have this phase.
We call it 'winter'.
What Makes Winter. • Opuss № I