Poetry: "auld winter's bears"

auld winter's bears

Alli Kestler, Class of 2021

The winter chill lives in my house.

It shovels snow into the furnace,

frosts the thermostat over,

ices the front walkway as I head

for my car, and buries

everything in sight.

The winter chill lives in my bones.

It moves in, sets its bags down and

admires the place, taking in the

bone marrow, the tendons, the

muscles leading to passages

around my body, and claims new

land for colonisation.

The winter chill lives in the listless spirits

that dread the first snowfall and the

early-darkening days, the ones who wake and

sleep with the sunless sky and glare off the

blindingly white snow.

But even the winter chill

cannot contain my excitement

when the flurries dance around our

heads, also excited to be with us

again this year. Miniscule white bursts

against dark orange and maroon leaves

and dark green grass highlights the

arbitrary seam separating autumn

and winter.

They will not stick, not today but

maybe the next, but the flurries paired with

the bonfires in the distance arouse the sleeping

bears in my chest, who’ve waited a long

hibernation to see the wondrous skyfall

again before they lumber back into their caves

for yet another trying winter.

For a moment, the bears and I are at peace,

quietly admiring what is.

My bones reject it, my house is nearly

frozen over, and spirits will be

low, but the initial snowfall never looked

as beautiful as this.