I just came back from a walk through Colonial Place.
There is no white powder yet, but I feel the coming.
The silence is only broken by the whir of a motor vehicle zooming down the payment racing home before the storm.
Clouds mask the stars in grayness of winter.
The breath is clear and clean, yet the season of winter holds it’s internal capture of breathing and the body knows the difference.
Morning will bring a white blanket so it is time to sleep and await the crystal water.
I know the moon is up there shining bright to others.