Updated: Sep 6, 2022
By Krysta Bell
It's so cold it hurts.
Aching fingers, chilling cheeks;
if I laugh to hard my teeth freeze.
My eyes squint, fingers go numb.
It's so lonely;
No dogs to play with, break a trail
or chase away this lonely mind.
The harsh wind mutes my thoughts.
The sun peers through the clouds,
only to be mocked by a desolate world.
Each step I take is a new found frustration,
for the deep snow confines my tired limbs.
I lay back in the snow beneath me.
Arch my back, bend my knee,
the perfect temporary seat,
shielded from the wind.
I stare at the clouded sky,
absorbed in my mind,
caught up in the city,
illusioned into thinking I am busy.
The snow gets pushed into dirty piles,
and the sidewalk become an uneven trail.
Snow falls patiently,
Only to become slush under our tires.
I prefer the wind,
I enjoy the treachery,
When it is silent.
I miss the good old days,
I miss my dog,
I feel the triumph in my sore muscles,
and strength in my face.
Effort is a terrible thing to waste!
Krysta Bell ~ 2000
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