Fir trees poke through the swirling grey mist
The peak of a hat, sometimes crooked, other times bent and broken...
A cold wind blows through the trees, rattling the brittle leaves,
And we hear the crinkle of an old black taffeta cape being unfurled...
As the winter witch settles herself onto the world
Knowing that her time here is limited
So she makes the best of it, throwing snow into the air
With howls of laughter, sometimes no sound at all
She drags her long finger across the landscape
Until Spring says enough is enough and starts to win the battle,
Throwing warmth out like a tease of what’s to come,
Undoing Winter’s wrath with the winning smile of the sun
And just as she thinks she’s winning
Winter throws her last punch and dies....