winter has its handful of memories

Winter has a message of its own 

When the cold is like a flower-- 

Flowers have their fragrance, winter has its handful of memories. 

The shadow of a withered branch, like lean blue smoke, 

Paints a stroke across the afternoon window. 

In the cold the sunlight grows pale and slanted. 

It is just like this. 

I sip the tea quietly 

As if waiting for a guest to speak. 

[Lin Huiyan {1904-1955} 'Sitting in Quietude' {trans. by Michelle Yeh}, from Solitude from Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets]