The Cold

I think about the snow that’s melted as I walk across frozen fields, trying to cling to something that won’t fade away. I think about the whiskey, like some stream fighting not to freeze against that same cold that the snow flakes cling and I trudge against. In the morning the sun breaks through the clouds and both the snow and I are blind. What can I do, you win again.


2 Responses to “The Cold”

  1. Susan Prunty (@sprunty2000) Says:

    I wish you were still home where your heart is.

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