white, ashen, charcoal berms

to the left

to the right

everywhere in sight.

little tail-wagger

pulling at it's lead

owner nervous indeed.

hot steamy mustard stains

pains to walk around.

disregarded rides peaking out,

entries frozen shut.

mukluk, brogan, boot impressions

paint the path.

naked saplings fractured,

boskage leaning on each other

like bashed rabble.

neighbors babble

in their yards.

portico glistening with

crystal fingers tripping

my feet. 

doorknob fridgid

in my grasp.

By Lynn Hahn