Analysis of Chilly

As the seasons change with our feel,
eyes study the pavement and
arms protectively wrap our torsos precious.

The giddiness of summer went South and,
with the cold, focus of a buckle-down
finds me as unexpected inspiration.

The wind, the useless wind, finds its way
beyond my layers of cloth and skin to
frost my bones, thoughts, ney intentions.

As the lovely coloured leaves splotch the
grey canvas of sky only to fall in brown,
shriveled defeat I feel a longing, but not
for the season just passed.

I remember the days when I laughed at the
cold, taunting it with play in the street
and a defiance to retreat from the dark.
A time when the major obsticle was
mom's-know-best.

I learned her lessons well and now I remain
in my dimly lit room trying not to be chilly.