walking across fresh snow unlike the snow of my youth
i am trying to get home
but the weather never suits it
it erases familiarity
and evokes dreams more than nostalgia
it gives new meaning to old songs
the past is reduced to ashes
simply by freezing fog and hoarfrost
we have been long here in this hazy world above
the brown eastern expanse
and the green western valley
our moods determined by the rising and falling (age) of the clouds
the air has grown stagnant
no lateral motion
only up and down
winter has me now
in her cascade cold grips
the sterility of ice, the chill of logic
frozen
like the past
like the pines spiraling the butte
biding time until the thaw
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