Summers last songbird

The lilting last phrases of the summer songbirds, are only an echo now in the depth of winter's graceless embrace. These cold nights, spent shivering in bed dreaming of the summer sun serve as the prelude to the eager blossoms of spring.
The buds bursting forth from the grey twigs, long held by the frigid hands of winter in her icy grasp. Sheltering here, amid these blankets....I know that there are places where the summer never ends, places of eternal springtime, and lands where winter never comes with her shadows and iceflows. I long for those places, with verdant fields full of mist in the early morning that the Sun will burn off by mid-morning, places with jewelled flowers in the early morning and vibrant yellows by midday.

If I pause, just for a moment, the echo of the songbird returns to my mind...that last robin bedding down for the winter.