Frost

The world is covered in cold sparky white,
the fog bringing mystery to everything.

The spider webs, defined by frost,
are abandoned.
You say the spiders have dug into the earth beneath
to be warm and safe,
peeking out to check if their webs
can be delicate and subtle again.

Sheets of ice cover the park pond.
We laugh lovingly at ducks walking on it
leaving their trail, their mark.
They are drawn to the water, the broken part,
the depths beneath.
What for? For food, sustenance, life?

Walking to and from school,
washing up,
hanging laundry,
getting up,
having a shower,
getting you ready,
cooking food,
the mundane day to day,
repeating.

My mind freezes,
things to do,
surface thoughts,
scroll down.
Underneath flutters my soul, pulling from the depths.
The laundry calls to me to be seen anew,
to be seen as precious and beautiful.

The daffodils on my table promise life
bursting through to the open.
The snowdrops in the park say life
is always there, renewing.