They move through snow with easy grace,
a hint of mischief on each face;
their collars open to the breeze,
as if the cold were but a tease.

And I—if I were near that flame—
would meet the frost much the same;
for who could keep their distance when
such warmth strides past again, again?

They laugh at winter’s icy claim,
their breath a cloud, their eyes a flame;
and I would gladly brave the chill
to linger with them on the hill.

A glove slipped off, a hand held out—
to clear the way or calm a doubt;
I’d lead the way or follow through,
content with just a wink or two.

Some are bold and some are shy,
yet all shine bright against the sky;
and if I stood among that crew,
I’d cheer them on—and steal a view.

Their courage glows through storm and night,
broad shoulders brushed with silver-white;
and I’d stand there, heart astir,
pretending I’m just watching… sure.

So let them stride through ice and storm,
their presence keeping winter warm;
and let me dream, as watchers do,
of what I’d dare—if I were too.

Originally published on NeuroDivine.ie