She whispers in the cold dark night, on nights when the starlight is brightest and the air has a deathly chill.

I listen to her whispers as they make the tall pines sway. Her voice usually mesmerizes but not always. Sometimes she sings a gentle song or she can raise her voice with frightening screams.

There are nights when she raises her voice perhaps in anger, the wolf, coyote and banshee fall silent out of respect.

The sheer power of her breath makes the house timbers moan and shudder. On one such occasion I thought she had blown against the walls of this house but it turned out to be just an earthquake.

I have stood before her and felt the bone numbing cold that she brings. If one is not dressed properly to be in her presence her breath can be painful and dangerous. She is no respecter of person or improper dress. In her audience, one must remember that cotton kills. Dress accordingly.

In spite of her ability to kill me in just a short amount of time, I still enjoy her company on an otherwise painfully silent winter’s night. 

She does bring me a gift that I relish. Her breath that comes from the arctic world is clean, fresh and pure. I breathe in deep the icy air devoid of pollen. She is a welcome friend.