Mist

And as the North wind blows

we cherish

the view of a saltmarsh; misty.

Birds

diving at sea life exposed by the low outgoing changing tide.

Moonbeams streamed into a warm room,

as your reflection is silhouetted off a crystal light shade.

Circular snowflakes

were falling in parallel unison,

and ice cracked with the shifting tide.

You

were content as our warmth

increased with every breath.

I looked outside a frosted window 

and

saw high tide reach peak, and

surrounded the sea grass for another eight hours.

As the North wind blew, echoes came from waves crashing against

the breakwater

and

 our thoughts sailed back into the mist

echoing against the bare walls of our frosted room.