Winter

The first of December sneaks in like a shadow. A wintry melancholy settles all around me. Must be the clouds or the rain or the time that has passed. After a while you start to miss the sun. I haunt this tiny room typing empty words, waiting for the muse to strike. Elusive inspiration dances at the fringes of my consciousness, taunting me…teasing. Holding out hope that this is still mine I stand here staring at my hands over the keys. My nails are bitten shorter than ever. A few key strokes are actually painful. Never before have I felt so lost to myself. What will I do if this gift never returns? I am frightened…