Inching on all fours with reptilian prowess, she sets the trap for the first night of winter. With thousands of years practice, besetting men at the start of another cold season of life without a kiln of warmth in his bed.
She desires this loneliness; for she herself is alone, being the only cold season of the year. For you to gaze at the sun & feel no warmth, this is her carnal narcotic. It hasn't always been like this for me.
A thunder storm of barreling blood surged unabated into my siberian skin. This was the first night I met her. Brown tan boots rose like babel from the terrain as if to say, "Beanstalk? Where! Jack?"
What seemed like sweat was the frost melting off my face, due to the pot of boiling liquid genealogy fermenting beneath my skin. As I swallowed it got stuck; the frozen realization needed to thaw before it sunk in.
I knew that up there love & winter were fighting over me. They were fighting to unlock happiness that had been imprisoned by anger.
You see, on this night they had chosen me to fight over. Mans days were governed by these creatures' longing to inflict their gift upon you. They say it only happens once in a lifetime.
Double taking more times than a half a bakers dozen, almost like a premonition it hit me. Love had won the battle for me. Her arrow piercing the frozen campfire in my heart.
As I exhaled the last frost from my melted shards of winter, I smiled, I took her hand & I asker her her name. She looked up, she fluttered, then said,
"My name's Summer, you look cold."