The Visitor

The frost dances a trail of ice along the edge of the fine crystal glass, as snow swirls in looping lazed circles in a waltz, white and pure, without regrets.

'Snow.'

Inside sits a lonely person, plaintive and still, leaning against the window, fingers pressed against the imaginary cold.

Outside wanders the invisible, a visitor; wandering and seeing and yet leaving untouched, the visitor meanders into the center of the singing winds and festive dance as ice and snow pair by pair whirl about to an ever increasing beat.

The visitor reaches a house, of simple red brick building, bright and still against the outside blinding white, as a sense of warmth chills the heart, and then, the climax of silence is deafening as wind billows and a feverish frolic of prancing and leaps ensues of snow and ice despite the wretched cold.

Forlorn and empty are the eyes, the visitor still unseen, though piercing blue and wistful. The world inside is pleasant and empty, silent despite the stark cold;

The visitor steps away parting the words, re-entering their own reality; 

The blue eyes start, widening in wondering; a feather floats before the snow, unending.