A very British spring

Poem four – http://napowrimo.com
A painted sky gleaming with gold lies to me,
The cruel wind blasts my cheeks and threatens to tear tears from my eyes,
The brutal cold moves up through the bench, into my skin, my bones and to the very core of me,
Wild air caresses my legs and slips inside any crevass of clothing left unguarded,
Stray strands of hair tickle my nose and distract my streaming eyes,
The piercing frost creeps gently along behind me as I walk away,
reclaiming its land once more from the receding sun,
I head hurriedly along towards the distant lights that signal warmth and home.