Rain darkens the streets and dims the sun’s lamp. I take off my hat, feeling the rain’s speckle on my head.
Morning, milky-soft. A cardinal flits in the woodland strip behind the garage. Green nubs push up through the winter-pressed loam.
The hoarse cough of someone scraping ice off of concrete and a slow, melting drip from the eaves. 30°, dark and full of muffled echoes.
Afternoon fog, disorientingly warm. Sidewalks reappear like arms from under dirty lace and the air cloys, smelling of dirt and water.
Snow falls, silent outside the window. It covers the ground like absence layering over memory, at once beautiful, and cold, and obscuring.
The heat of sleep evaporates in the late morning while the coffee steams, then cools. Morning light passes by the window without looking in.
Snow-silent and wind-sharp day, muffled in gray like a dream in sleep.