Early morning friends

This morning my mind raced through the usual ritual of awaking as today Mr. Winter has arrived with whirling abandon. The wind-chimes around the house are playing a lively concerto to the tune of tree branches bouncing up and down while the rain tussles her hair against every window, sounding like tymbals in an echo chamber.

As the glorious wind blows on and on, dawn’s slightest early light gambols through the sheer curtains hanging in my Writing Room and stream across my desk, calling, ‘Come out! Come out my friend and play!’ I hesitate at the temptation and lean toward the better judgment of regret, to turn away the ‘dare’ so aptly and carelessly thrown at me. Certainly, were it not for the rain, I could have been so enticed to solidify every notion that no semblance of normalcy exists within these walls.

Through my Writing Room window, the naked maple shivers in the cold, her branches caked with chartreuse velvet moss. I stop to listen. The old tree crackles as the bamboo chimes try to keep-up with the tunes all around.

Mr. Winter has laid down the gauntlet, entering this dominion with sheets of shimmering rain and a shameless wind. I can hear the wind’s laughter, and the dare is much too much to bear. He knew all along that I would change my mind! I do believe the rain has let up.

Prepare to bundle-up my friends, it’s time to go out and play!!!

Artist of 'Cold Wind' painting

unknown to this writer

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