Butterfly House

The street outside is cold and grey

While the air inside is humid, heavy,

Full of water drops and a sweet scent:

Trays of orange slices line the path,

Which are nibbled silently.

I try to listen carefully:

Is that the gentle flutter of wings in the air?

Behind leaves and on branches,

Or high up in the air,

We observe the fleeting lives

Of colour, warmth and beauty:

The elusive winter butterfly.

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Chills

Like the frost she is sharp

And it is winter when she comes.

We shiver through her howling

As the short days end,

Darkness bringing its own memories.

 

None can escape her cold embrace:

Hugging her feels like rain,

Stones, hail at your back.

Like a December storm

She is frightening.

 

Wrapped up in coats and scarves,

The frost a sheen on our cheeks,

She crosses our path,

Thorough and menacing,

And we feel it in our bones.

 

Like the snow she brings us silence.

We are muffled in her presence;

Unsure, watching our step.

It sounds like peace but underneath

Lies certain danger.