Icy air, searing lungs
Cloudy breath, frozen nose
Time to think, dreams to make
Sleeping homes, empty streets
Sun kissed branches on naked trees
The world awaits the magical whisper of spring.
Though not a poet, I am making a stab at a poetical expression of the run this morning. It was 33 degrees, with a windchill of 29. The air burned my lungs as I breathed in and froze as I exhaled. And yet, the world was beautiful. The sun shone on the trees, and the world seemed to be waiting, asleep for a touch of magic. It made me think about how our lives run in seasons. We have times of passion and excitement (summer), times of quiet and peace (fall), times of barrenness and discouragement (winter), and times of new dreams and ideas (spring). I thought about how without the winter, the spring would have no beauty. It is in contrast to the barrenness of winter that spring displays its magnificent colorful explosion.