A Perfect Winter Adventure
With my friends from the wild as my protectors
My favourite time of the year is the winter fall
Waking to see the snow outside my window,
Excited to wear all my winter woollen clothes
As I look outside at a world that is in limbo.
***
No footprints in the freshly fallen white snow
No movement at all from friend, animal or foe,
Tree limbs weighted down with winters ice
A silence so deep it seems the world is hollow.
***
I realise with glorious glee the fun to be had
The lake, I can’t see, must be frozen icicles,
I’ll get mummy to dig out my old ice skates
We’ll need to walk as it’s too deep for bicycles.
***
Mummy said she’s too busy to take me outside
So I asked if I could head out with my friend,
A wild wolf that protects me from all danger
Mummy’s not happy but said yes in the end.
***
She insists that I wear my winter knitted hat
Along with my umber coloured winter dress,
Thermal tights to ward off the chilly winds
And my fur-lined boots so she doesn’t stress.
***
Dressed, with my ice skates over my shoulder
I give mummy a kiss and head on out the door,
The snow is like an imagined fluffy white cloud
Except it’s not in the sky but all over the floor.
***
I give a loud wolf whistle to call out to my mate
And a tawny coloured wild wolf bounds up to me,
I sling an arm over his furry shoulders to say hello
As the freshly fallen snow covers us to our knees.
***
This special wild friendship is really one of a kind
As the wolf adopted me when I was just a baby,
He treats me as if I’m his and always protects me
Then he introduced me to his cubs and his lady.
***
We are family now, these gentle wild wolves and I
At first my mummy worried they would hurt me,
But as time passed she slowly stopped stressing
Allowing my friend to babysit whenever she’s busy.
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Originally posted on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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