Winter Poem by sharon wildey

The wind moves in stillness, jerking from place to place as if a concealed villain lurked in the cold whispering. It is always pensive the seasonal wind, timidly covering time with obligation, burring down to warmth, curling up and waiting. Eyes wide as new noises gain notice and the phone rings for inquiry not for action. No action to take here at the beginning but for the edginess of closing down and waiting.