Tantrum

Tantrum

Winter is NOT an old man.

He is a toddler 
who stomps around in a bitter mood.

He is a three-year-old throwing a tantrum

after being scolded for misbehaving.

He pitches balls of frigid air that slap faces

and leave cheeks red and stinging.

His fists flail in revolt.

We dodge his repeated blows.

His feet kick up piles of snow

making a mess everywhere.

When you want him to move along,

he flings himself to the ground,

howling and refusing to budge,

as snow swirls about 
and piles up around him.

Winter Waiting

Winter Waiting

Chilled, brisk air 

chases him down the sidewalk 

and follows behind him 

through the door.

He shuts it out quickly.

He shakes bits of snow from his coat

which melt into little puddles 

upon hitting the floor.

He smells chili 

simmering on the stove

and the homemade bread she's baking.

Her welcoming hug and smile

makes him grateful

for a quiet evening at home

 in the making.

Wrapped in an afghan,

watching the flickering fire,

and drinking tea,

they spend their time

reading books, laughing, 

listening to music,

watching TV. 

It's the time of winter waiting.

Waiting for the snow to start.

Waiting for the snow to stop.

Waiting for the snow to melt.

It's the time of winter waiting.

Waiting for the soup to boil.

Waiting for the bread to bake.

Waiting for the new year.

Waiting to see... what cards will be dealt.

The young at heart 

wait for Christmas,

wondering what Santa will bring.

Older folks with aching bones

work jigsaw puzzles 

and wait for spring.