Once upon a December

Once upon a December,

as winter darkened the windows

I sat in a corner with a book on my lap

wrapped up in a life not mine;

for fiction is the best analgesic

or more of an anesthetic

With every leaf I turned

the panes of the window

to my reality, grew opaque

the gloom began to evanesce

The scene became refulgent

Here, in this phantasmagoria

the air carried the heady petrichor

Butterflies, grass, the trees, the sun

the fluttering, the rustling, the chimes, the wind!

The amber of the sun, as it kissed the river

made each drop turn into prism

Then little by little, the light retreated

like a sullen drunk, came big dark clouds,

from far away and hid the yellow sun

And as I put the book down

sighed, and dared to look around

there sat my cellmates, waiting

gloom, despair, and numbness

huddled by the same dark window

beyond which lay the blizzard.