Vain Frost

You have finally arrived

And as usual, you sugar coat everything.

You would choose a day when the light is perfect!

Vain, conceited frost.

Even the pigeon, the butler of birds,

Perched on the greening fence

Has his appearance heightened:

His feathers rivened on his grey tailored coat,

His back declaring his vigilance;

His profile clearly demarked in the sun,

As he squints or basks, I'm not sure which.

Your arrival means I can see my breath.

Everything is delineated:

The dips and swirls in the grass

Where its weft and weave

Have been combed by the rake

All individualised, made their own

By your cold attention.

They are stiff with it but look better for it:

Groomed.

Like Hokusai, you show up the waves.

Leaves curled, show their death

More clearly: white contrasting brown decay.

The sun is searching for you

And I know you:

You will not hide.

You will revel in your temporary presence,

Showy and glistening

Until Sun's weakening warmth

Liquifies your hold,

Knowing that you will reappear better, thicker

And last longer as Winter's darkness,

Your accomplice, shadows our world

And dismisses the Sun.

Nature's Terminator,

Born to be melted and reform.

You will pattern and crisp,

Crystallise and fracture.

You will make mornings longer

As your icy touch is fended off

And exhaust billows puff the air.

I dislike your cold

But I admit: I like your style.

There is no denying the beauty

Of the paleness of your skin.

***

I sort of like frost and I sort of don't. It is beautiful, there's no denying it but it also means it's cold and whilst I like the crispness of days like today, I dislike the inconvenience of defrosting my car and thinking about wearing layers and searching for that forever elusive pair of gloves.

I tried to capture that mixture of feelings in this poem.

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