The snowbanks grow higher each week
And the sidewalks get narrower and narrower.
People walk single file now,
Hedged cozily by snowbanks on either side.
The banks are topped with delicate, ebbing etchings because
We’re all letting our mittened hands run along the top of the banks as we walk.
Every now and then,
There’ll be an imprint where someone decided to plop themself into the snowbank for a seat.
Have you sat in a snowbank recently?
Have you?
HAVE YOU?
I am aggressive about this
Because I think that a snowbank is just about one of the best places you could sit.
It will form itself to you and
Hold you gently,
And you can just be still and catch your breath.
At midnight,
When it snows on the watch of golden streetlight,
We abandon the sidewalks altogether
And boldly walk down the middle of the street.
“There’s just so much snow!” we say yet again.
We bundle up yet again.
We shovel yet again.
We marvel yet again
At the magic of a quiet city street
Lit with string lights and thick flakes.
We own this winter and
This winter owns us.
The slice and crack of my skates on fresh ice
Yet again
Burns through me.
Are we surviving this winter? Are we thriving? How are we doing? :)