The cold came upon us much like a ghost.

With silent feet, and reaching fingers

he made his home in Virginia’s coast.

A phantom reminder of his friend, Winter.

He had been waiting quietly outside summer’s door

For his turn to come inside.

Impatient, he slowly turned the knob,

And alas he did not have to wait anymore.

He crept along the halls, a whisper through the beaches

Poking his head through unlocked doors

Searching anywhere in his reaches.

Looking for a soft place to lay his weary head.

He tip-toed through suburban lawns

Through Pungo’s fields- green and vibrant.

Awaiting the time to make his pawns

Out of our wardrobes and routines.

Then suddenly a stranger strolled right on through the door

“Hello” he said, “I’m Matthew, and I’m looking for a friend”

“A frigid fellow who needs my help, but his is needed more.”

Cold meekly introduced himself, unused to being wanted.

See, hurricanes aren’t solely made out of nature’s wrath,

They often require more. Like a comfortably seated warm front,

And a cold front determined to stray from its path.

A hostile reunion that is sure to leave a mark.

The heat survived the meeting, but was tired from its fight,

Cold leapt onto eager feet, ready for his return.

He blew a frigid kiss and expelled the warmth with his might.

Now settled in an armchair, he begins his winter fun.