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.
Snow pants.
Snow men.
Snow cones.
Snow angels.
Pink nose and watering eyes.
Winter muffling life, dimming the light, slowing the pace.
Shake me, I’m in a snow globe.
