An Early Walk In First Snow

The blacktop is uncovered, yet the road has a moving face. Wind-drifts sketch fleet features then sweeps them away. Lawns and fields are snow encased every blade an icy spear; much is buried, some pierce through. Spears rattle in the dark robed dawn. Under parked cars a grey haired crawl heaps a dead-eyed silence. The sky puts on a dull armor as a submerged sun glints. A short walk in November my heart is a chill beat in a raw breast. I will get used to this; become used to the gnaw of winter, but it will take awhile. Hot black coffee helps while I order leather gloves from a thawing window.