the sky is grey slate
and i am thinking about change.
there is beauty in these imperfections,
the scattered leaves littered on the steps
the days of stubble on my cheek
the inertia that grips me on uncertain days.
the flakes fall now thicker and thicker
and i cannot hide in fear.
this is natural, just as
shivering when cold
laughing when tickled
crying when injured.
the air is crisp and biting
and i double my resolve.
my years will pile
as does the snow,
but never melting in the heat;
i will err and triumph,
all the while i stay
where i am meant to be.

the sun appears,
and so it goes.