It’s cold and the television flags.
It does that when the winds are rising.
I can hear it on the windows in little whispers.
The winter messenger is here in frost.
A herald, they call it, of crystal ice,
The one who brings the forward message.
The winter winds are just on the horizon,
With a hurdle of snow and bundle of chill.
I am wearing a hoodie with my face on the glass,
My breath meets the herald of winter,
He doesn’t know me, but I know him.
It’s all new to the winter, but we are ready.
We’ve battened down before the snow,
and cold and frost and sleet and hail.
We know its name well.
