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.