One of Those Days

It was one of those days.

There was snow in the air.
Not the soft, fluffy snow flakes
that look like they’ve been handcrafted
out of crystal by some master artist
and set to float to earth with love.

No, the kind of snow that hovers,
sneaking its way to the ground 
when you’re not looking
then lays there like tiny balls 
on top of the earlier white carpet.

The sky was a somber shade of grey
as if the painter had dabbed his white
with a dirty brush and had almost 
— but not quite —
been able to correct his mistake. 

And through the brown of naked trees
there whipped a bitter wind;
a wind that coaxed teardrops
from the corners of unsuspecting eyes
just so it could freeze them to the face. 

I tugged my collar ‘round my ears
and hunkered in, 
shoulders hunched into the wind,
and glared, as the thick-coated dog
resolutely refused to come back in. 

Winter in the north can be a work of art;
crystal and lace, and cotton fluff
laid out as far as the eye can see;
days of crisp white painted 
beneath a pure azure above.

This wasn’t one of those days!