What Winter Took

Not all winters end when the snow melts; some linger in the soul until thawed by grace.

I still think I left a part of me in those cold New England winters.

Perhaps the wind’s chill stripped youth away,

Leaving it raw, red, chapped like lips.

Those times were hard – my struggle not with others but myself,

Living in a perpetual winter of family seasons,

Shifting patterns, as uncertain as the weatherman on channel 54.

Perhaps a part of me was frostbitten by those barren tundras.

Was my soul frozen by the familial cold?

Or my heart dropped to sub-zero, solidified into unfeeling?

I think back to that version of me – always cold, always alone.

I see the drifts of sorrow gathered beneath sunken eyes.

I know that self, half-he, half-she, must have felt afraid

Of that seemingly endless winter.

Now, in fall approaching winter once more,

I wonder if what was lost may be found again

In the hush of fresh-fallen snow.

If a new winter might embrace

Possibilities once thought impossible.

Now I hold my frozen heart before the Father’s Fire,

Embracing embered existence fueled by Sire,

Leaning closer, led ever higher

🌨️ If this poem stirred something in you, consider sharing it so another weary soul might find warmth in the Father’s Fire. Every share is like fresh-fallen snow – quiet, gentle, and covering more ground than we ever expect.