Writing in the Winter Chill

Darkness sets in the horizon
The day's mist gets thicker and dense
The firewood is out, the coal is ready
The streets dimly lit, no cars, so empty.

Behind the clouds, in the jet black sky
Almost non-existent, it hides on the sly
At times showing its self, playing peek-a-boo
In vain, it tries to chine and glisten - the moon.

They cast shadows, the darkest you've ever seen
You smell moisture, you smell green
Their leaves rustle in the whistling breeze
Like they're breathing through the night - the trees.

Indoors, the fire is lit, the heaters are on
Snuggled in my blanket, cozy and warm
I sip on my tea, so steamy and hot
Decide to write this poem, rhyming in thought.

Through the thick fog, everything's hazy
So quiet, so dull, quite so eerie
Unlike the brightness, within hours that brings the day
This unsettling darkness seems here to stay.

Not a soul on the road, all back in
Escaping the cold, the gloom, the chill
My thoughts go into a frenzy - I need words to describe
I need a pen and paper - I need to write.