Whispers Between Snow & Flame Poem by karin collins

The snow descends in soft, lazy spirals,
each flake a delicate promise,
whirling through the pale expanse of the sky,
blanketing the earth in a tender, silken hush.
Every frost-kissed whisper, caressing and rare,
harbors the ache of unspoken yearning,
landing with the gentleness of a whispered sigh,
unhurried, as though the very fabric of time
has slowed its pulse to honor the moment.

Warm inside, the fire dances,
its embers murmuring softly like whispered secrets,
reaching for the cold,
seeking, yearning, not demanding,
a slow, deliberate warmth,
spreading like a hand held out in invitation,
as if unsure but drawn to the snow's quiet beauty.

Its flames flicker, luminous and golden,
curling gently into the shadows like a lover's embrace,
unhurried, patient,
lingering in the quiet longing of the moment.
The snow, still falling,
touches the warmth of the fire,
its delicate edges, guarding the cold,
softened by the heat,
melting ever so gently,
as if the cold is finally beginning to understand
the warmth it has always sought.

And the fire, for all its heat,
finds something in the snow's cool touch
that deepens its glow,
a quiet balance between warmth and chill,
between distance and desire,
woven into the silence of the evening, unspoken but undeniable.

Still, the fire flickers—
not in a hurry,
but in the slow, careful progression of warmth
that follows the snow's soft invitation,
each moment blending with the next,
until neither fire nor snow could exist without the other.
They dance in harmony,
a quiet, unfolding symphony of warmth and cold,
tender, patient,
as the world outside sleeps under their gentle spell.