Bright Cold

Baby, it's cold outside.

“It’s a beautiful day,” my grandpa would say,
As blue sky replaces familiar grey.
The sun shining down on our sleepy, small town
Wrapping it all in a bright, yellow gown
But it is easy to see, through each barren tree,
Fallen snow is not awed easily.
It’s hard to cavort in a gown that’s so short;
And heat?...offers nothing of the sort.
Each breath is a cloud, snow and ice do shroud
Earth too solid to yet be plowed.
And yet, no matter how deep the freeze,
Like my grandpa, I desperately seize
Days as fleetingly beautiful as these.

© Jeff Wilson, 2010