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Poem I wrote in writer's guild...
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Snow.
Snow.
Snow.
I say it slowly
Tasting each letter on my tounge
S-n-o-w,
My dreaded 4 letter "s" word.

With my face pressed against the window,
Looking at the outside scenery,
A small cloud of fog has been born
And grows with each breath breathed.

There is nothing outside but white,
White bulging forms of the life it covered.

Suddenly,
A shiver shakes my body,
And I fold my arms close to my body
In an attempt to stay warm.
No matter how ling I've lived here,
11 years to be exact,
I still hate the cold with a passion.
I cannot get used to it.
My body still yearns for
The warm Florida sun all year long,
Like I enjoyed in my first years of life.

I pull back
Pulling my face off of the glass
Feeling agitated
And resisting the urge to scream a long line of
Choice profanities
Yelling at the snow for being there
Even when I knew sure enough
I would get no response.

My eyes flicker,
Catching some small, igsignificant detail,
As usual.
A detail easily ignored,
But I choose to let it appease my wonder.

I caught my transparent reflection
Staring back at me. Expression
Cold.
Glaring.
Resentful.
My eyes,
An unusual mix
That changes their color tone
With the seasons,
Were... dead
To say it bluntly.
Gray,
Unable to reflect any
Life that they saw,
'cause they saw nothing
But s-n-o-w.