The snowman ages
in the bitter cold sun.
One solitary eye
remains on his face,
his carrot long gone.
Icicle tears drip
from frosted visage,
worn by polar wind,
pocked by weak daylight.
Soon the ground will drink
his vital fluid.
He will seem gone then,
’til frozen winter
restores cold spirit’s
imagination;
to rebuild his life
when it snows

 I have been a nightowl since my teen years, so long nights are just another part of my waking day.

However, the lack of sunlight (even though I experience little sunlight during the rest of the year) does make inroads upon my state of mind. Although I feel I am short of sunlight all year, in the Fall the darkness will still bring out the depressing ( Read more... )