It has become a daily occurance,
Sometimes big, intricate flakes,
Infinitely personal,
Other times small, needled,
Wind-driven crystals,
Targeting those who venture
Out thinly prepared.
It seems easy to spiral with
Those feeble and complaining
Souls,
Sinking into drifts of ever deeper winter.
I watch the birds,
Flitting from tree to feeder,
Basking in the mid-winter sun,
Practicing for the exhuberance of
Spring,
Invincible.