bare branches, limbs, underbrush

now sheathed in delicate ice that

bends saplings and tall grass to the ground

ethereal but dull under the

uniformly gray rain spitting sky

remains of a previous snowstorm

unevenly patch this oppressive landscape

cold seeps from these visual cues

to an actual sensation in the extremities

working from fingertips and toes into

arms, legs, bones, soul

god i hate this time of year.



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