I could write about summer and how I forever miss her warm embrace

Like caramel and lemonade sunshine

Her breeze thin, running fingers through my hair

Or maybe, I could write about winter and his depressive, evening glow

The sun peeking through white sheets in the sky

Fresh rain on the pavement

Sixteen years without snow

I guess I could write about winter

But why, do I ask, would I write about such a thing when my muse owns all the space in my mind?

It’s the little things.

The two friends, huddled together as they warm their hands at the fireplace, whispering into the night

The touch of frost, coating the evergreen trees fencing your home

The peaceful silence in the living room as the sun sets at 4:38, children sneaking extra marshmallows into their hot cocoa

Warm smiles that soothe a child’s cry

Two lovers, hand in hand, switching sides on occasion to keep both hands warm

So, yes—I could write about summer and her stars that dance in the everlasting darkness, but let us not forget about the warmth in our hearts as the first snowflake sets foot onto the pavement

For the peace in your heart, mind, and soul he offers, will forever leave you longing to write of his beauty