It’s cold
And the winter darkness draws in
As snow threatens from low hanging clouds.
There is an iciness in the air
Seeping into your very bones
And although you rub your hands together
And stamp your feet,
Your breath hangs like cloud in the air.
Nothing can make you warm
The whole world seems frozen.
And then you reach your doorstep
And the lights are on:
The door opens and the heat hits
Bringing an ache of warmth
As you remove fingers one by one
From your gloves.
The rich smell of cinnamon bake wafts
From the kitchen
And there’s a welcome voice and a bear hug
to greet you.
And then a little hand creeps
Into your big hand
And pulls you giggling and unresisting
Towards the glowing embers of
A log fire.
And you melt into what is
Home.
Photo and words copyright by Englepip©
Englepip's World 