Sick of Ice

There was a short break in the freezing temperatures. Enough for pouring rain to replace the snow and for a thick fog to envelop our city block, hiding away everything that could possibly exist beyond each end of the street that we live on. Warm enough to have apartment windows open for just a little while, switching out old air for fresh. Not yet dry enough or warm for us to spend any significant time outside. We miss the park.

Drip drip drip. Slowly melting snow formed daggers on each ledge (or lightly sloping rooftop edge).

The once mountainous piles of snow piled beside the road are dirtied: pockmarked where footprints have landed, and littered with old newspaper. The flat ploughed edges have melted back to resemble fans of a coral reef, but filthy and black with dirt.

Nevertheless, we are beginning to be able to see the grass. Simply knowing that it is still there is enough for just a little while, until the fresh snow falls and smothers it once more.


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