the grey fog was so thick,
the future was invisible

In the afternoons when i drive along the wooded path, I turn the music off and lower the windows. I want to hear the deer run across the woods, the leaves crunching beneath their black hooves. I want to see the hawk as it glides onto a lower branch, scanning the ground for small creatures. My breath becomes visible inside the car, the pup wimpers; my tires crush the ice with satisfying cracks and I drive on with the frigid silence embedded in my bones.

the marsh is frozen,
but then it thaws–
after several bitter cold days,
is solid once again–
and i can’t help but think how this pattern
is reflective of our little lives