Not Quite Nureyev...

Criss-crossing streets;

     shadow lengthen

     in the alley ways,

     cloaked and scarfed
     against the chill,

     somehow colder

     with the increased moisture

     in the Air,

     leaving tendrils of rime

     on brick walls,

     iced ivy clinging

     only till the rays

     of Tomorrow's Sun
     melts them in their place...

This taste of Winter

     is bitter to the tongue,

     like the salt

     clinging to the wheels wells

     and the dirty hub caps
     of the passing cars, ,

     find yourself hunching,
     involuntarily,

     and fighting muscles
     made sore from
     the straining

     to almost breaking
     as you push yourself forward
     once more...

 

Frozen puddles
     on the lawn
     in Library Park;
     serendipitous rinks

     to skate upon,
     running start, then slide,

     running start, then slide,
     now again,
     running start, then slide...

Feeling refreshed

    and younger, somehow,
    (and I didn't fall)
     this taste of Winter
     had a sweetness

     all its own...
     Jan. 17, 2015