Foreign Winter

She agreed hers was a beautiful country, 

though she would scarcely admit so before she left.
And now, as if to mock her, an icy wind bore into her
that she had taken its beauty for granted.

Through closed eyes, she saw herself there—
an ephemeral summer like a dance recital
skipped into her mind. It waltzed as
she watched, now beginning to thaw.

The sun turned clouds to torches
as it reached down to her face;
each blade of grass rubbing against
her bare ankles like little feathers.

The midday air enveloped her
as if it were warm honey, while
the heaving ocean who lay beside
her hummed its own cool rhythm.

A sudden gust interrupted,
cutting her promenade short. 
Her eyelids flickered,
lashes catching snowflakes,
as the winter continued its assault. 

 Nikkee Boyle, January 2010