When we walk in the park in winter,
The air is still and silent
Punctuated only by our raspy breaths
And the crunch of our soles on the solid grass.
Sheets of bright snow have erased calls and clamours
To be replaced by the chatter of teeth,
And the diminutive chirp of a lone robin.

Although the omnipotent chill refuses to relent,
Our fingers interlocked make a solemn pact.
Chapped lips pressed exchange vital warmth
In the shape of a kiss,
And the cold’s hold upon the soul
Yields, the hard face of the Earth softens.

Glass tops of frozen lakes seem to splinter
When we walk in the park in winter.