Windows steamed with warmth against ice-cold panes
Frosted trees sprinkled with glimmers of sunshine
And the winds whistle waywards shaking the leaves
That lie along the mudded grass upon Calton Hill.
The window gazes out across the city streets
A church stretched out against light grey skies
And the castle watches above the cobbled streets below.
Taxis hurry past, bustling bodies craning their necks
To hide their faces from the biting winds.
The weather is the sea — fresh like water
Tossed stranded seaweeds fall about
Exhausted on the sand’s surface,
The Portobello promenade paces alongside the beach
As an old man runs his bright orange kite
And the winds lick it up in the air
As February holds Edinburgh.