It’s 22 degrees out here; feels like much less.
The lack of wind allows the cold to hover around,
And the sounds to stand out crisply.
Hardly anyone is here but me — it’s very quiet.
Just two other people walking their dogs
Who pass by.
I photograph the frozen pond
And a tiny opening of a creek fueled by runoff
From snow somehow melting on the hill.
It looks very clear and makes me want to drink from it,
But I don’t. I stay out here a bit longer than I should
And let the cold seep in some more.
I want it to.
Content © Aaron G. Marsh
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