The Cliché

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Nothing in this world compares to the feeling
 of gliding through a rocky mountain gliding under the skis, silently and feeling like you’re, for once, at peace. White snow covers the land with the coolness of winter’s kiss. The warmth of the sun never leaves
 this country as the cold settles in. Winter swims, hikes, and skiing with the scent of chill 
ting the air. 
The breeze circles, lost,
 caught in winter’s snare.
 Its bitter currents whispered 
through a miasma of cold waves.

 A world encased in this winters kiss
  swims in the sun’s dying rays. I, on the other hand, sit on the beach and enjoy this motley of fading blues 
entombed in the silence of space.

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