I feel the cold wind blowing from the north, that cold, cold place that stretches further than my dreams. Climbing out the bed- I stare out the window to the trees outside, they're cold too.
The sky a blanket of color, those alternating greys and whites. My breath showes on the window - a small circle of condensation that I write on. I write a heart.

I stare out at the storm building now.That chaos that will sweep past and spill on me.
Where do I hide? Reeling mind with things I see, the world a winter storm.
Days to carry me
on with life
on to life
on to be
on to see
I could be anything I want to be
but for that which holds back