Winter Melancholy

Every winter I seclude myself in my hobbit hole of a home.

I surround myself with hot beverage, warm blankets, and fuzzy sweaters

so I can pretend that the cold doesn’t exist.

The short days drag into never-ending weeks of self-isolation and hibernation.

All the hours pass by in a gray smog of monotony, fatigue, and malise of mood.

The weariness of winter settles on me like freeze-burnt frost on dead grass

until it is melted by the return of the sun.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s