Rain is falling, loud enough to hear.

Damping out the last light.

Winter is different.

Different from summer,

When the light never seems to die.

Where there is always something more to do.

Winter is different.

A quiet time, if you let it.

The day measured shorter.

Thoughts turn to warmth,

Sips of scotch, a fireplace.

A meal on the table.

Winter is different.

A loved one and bed to go to.

The curious satisfaction of it all.

The last sight of the trees,

Bare now and stalwart. 

Close together protecting each other.

Maybe a brief glimmer of sunset,

Viewed between the rain clouds.

Thankfulness for the warmth around.

You think these things,

Not time for in summer.

Winter is different.

dty ‘22