Sturm und Drang

There’s little romance in January with
below zero nights
stress of a quiet storm.

Holiday decorations smashed flat
frozen, up against houses
Til some epiphany of spring
no words rhyme in silent
prairie wind hangs in the air
a shadow putting a voice to paper
paints the field while bending the grass.
Each breath a grainy gasp like reeds with broken ribs.
The sound of tearing out a leaf and tossing it aside

With skies peculiar shade of a colorless bruise
And the 3 pm sunset haze,
The forecasters’ promise of 32° does not come,
As January turns.

The dog’s ruff grows over his collar
I can find it no more than my footing
On polished glass

Christmas snow still piled 3 feet deep
behind the feed and grain store
makes the odd sort of old joints squeak
even with steel studded boots
On crusted glacier drifts
alternating with soft powder
I plunge through every footfall
walking is precarious at best.

A Clumsy metaphor for life this is
The sound of each step further away from where we’ve been.

I’m colder inside than outside
warm hands, frozen heart.

frozen through.

And through.

Thanks to D.

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