Deeper

Think of the words you use, when you speak of the cold air.
Its briskness and briefness that chills us to the bone.

Think of how it funnels past our ears, and blazes our cheeks.
Burning us and chapping our features. Reddening our lips.

And through its briefness, we never think about how that
wind started out high in the sky, over the tropics.
Warm and moist, above an opaque sea.

And churned into clouds and rains that were whipped across
farmlands, and deserts and cityscapes.

And ended up, staying, and cooling, and rushing past our faces.
So briefly, on a city street, in the darkness of winter.

And that is all we feel, the sting, and the sensation of the cold.
Without ever understanding, that there is more to its story.