Fly By

Geese fly through a cold winter sky.   There’s a hush in the air.  The grey clouds are heavy, laden with snow, but yet it resists the Fall.   I wait, watching, anticipating it’s arrival, but only the wind touches my face.   I can feel winter’s cold hand. It grazes my cheek, but will not wrap me in its white robes, will not envelop me with its embrace.  I have been here waiting, from the sun’s bright ascent to the close of the day, but it does not fall.   Winter’s snow holds back from me, like a reticent sparrow, peeking from the trees, unmoving yet aware, unsure of my intentions, though I offer only love.