Water covering. Clinging. Freezing.
Freckles of salt across the porch stairs. Pock marks.
A grey sky with grey cloud. A muted background for white rain falling in slow motion.
Footprints, paw prints, claw prints.
Gloved hands still cold, held to my face. Cold fingertips, cold cheeks.
Snowballs, white hikes, easy-to-spot cardinals snacking on the grass seeds that forgot it’s February.
I laugh and my breath, white against the grey, warm for a moment, moist and then cold, drifts away. It is no longer mine.
Memories of sled hills in Connecticut. Ice-covered trees and no-school announcements. Tires covered in silver chains.
Pink nose and watering eyes.
Winter muffling life, dimming the light, slowing the pace.
Shake me, I’m in a snow globe.