Cold air is heavier.
Its density
has a propensity
to hold us in place,
inside,
asleep.
It is enough
to make one weep
who loves the heat.
I welcome it
for its cooling property,
its innate ability
to calm and soothe
the painful reality
of an overheated,
seemingly defeated,
world once at peace.
Oh, it was but a brief
moment in time
when hope was alive
and the country thrived,
and nations strived
to help democracy
overcome autocracy.
But, I digress
under great stress.
Cold air is weighted
with shards of ice
torn loose from northern fields,
with such power to wield
that it weighs down sunrise,
to no one’s surprise.
It puts the worker bees to sleep.
They awaken inside flowers
lacking the power
to find their way to their hives.
Cold air makes dreams
more difficult to bear,
their messages too heavily aware
of all the world’s problems
fair and unfair.
Autumn is here
and the world bows down
under the new weight.
Winter is not far away.
I cannot wait!
As sun rises the only sound
is the song of geese southward bound.
I place the heating pad round
a sore back from bending down
to plant bulbs squirrels have already found.
Soon, snow will coat the frozen ground.
annarino writes 
Morning Walk
I walk along the paths intersecting the nearby ponds; their waters green and brown and cold. The trees are bare now, enabling an appreciation of the variety show put on by the dancing branches.
Tiny birds hide in plain sight like pibe cones strung along bare branches. Their quiet chirps give them away. I stop to be certain if what I see. I delight in their creativity.
A black squirrel, his mouth stuffed with a ball of dead grass clippings and leaves, scampers across my path and scurries to the top of the pine tree to my right. Temperatures plunged last night, and his nest is in need of more insulation. He lacks my gas furnace to warm his home.
Two Mallard pairs swim with pond’s wind-whipped current. The brightly colored males bright against the grey sky and brown water. Their brown and grey-striped wives seem tiny and complacent by their sides. Some things are the same in every society; even within the duck society.
The Canadian geese are absent from the ponds today. They have taken up residence in the intersection of nearby streets, reducing traffic to a crawl with their unconcern for moving vehicles and sounding horns. The water is warmer in the shallow puddles and they are thirsty. They are breakfasting on the berries and blown to the ground by yesterday’s heavy rains, and on the bugs burrowed beneath the leaves left lying in the gutter to decay.
Quiet has descended here as a blanket to our cold thoughts. Cooled by the icy winds drifting south across the continent. Creating discontent in the grey dawn. I walk on.
There are no others on the paths today, not even a single dog walker. I linger in the cold, alone and watching for signs of life other than my own. It is here among my sister earth and brother clouds. All is well. Time to go home.
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