Winter’s reign in all its glory,
conquistador of the
northern skies,
overseer of the Snow Gods,
sultan of the submissive clouds,
prodding them with
sharpened spears,
breathing life into their
passive spirit,
firing lightning bolts
at their caves,
sending thunder to their doors,
releasing the snow
from their arsenals,
wreaking havoc
upon the meadows below,
choking the air supply
beneath the ground,
shaking hands with the devil,
tightening its grip upon
the face of the earth,
 
loosening the grip as the cold
starts its gradual dying out,
the beast of the skies
growing soft,
a requiem to its final breath,
an opening up of the air supply,
a space reserved for the life to enter
and death to leave,
the breathing of the meadows
through its regenerated lungs;
 
an ode to life
and it’s coming again.

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