The paths I walked along in summer Are now muddy from fallen snow. Autumn leaves stick around in early winter. The cold air freezes rain. It's hard to breathe when I can see my breath. I stay inside, wearing fuzzy socks and warm sweatpants. My cardigan has pockets big enough to hold my Kindle. The books I read inspire my writing. I finally wrote the poem that had been On my mind for several days. I didn't know what I wanted it to be Until it unfolded underneath my fingertips. The art of creation, forming something out of nothing. Using words to mold a story not yet told. To see how things evolve with the seasons Through a poet's point of view.