Snow hangs from every twig and bough:
Gravity extracts a toll.
Crystal canopy the path--
I wonder as dawn comes in low.
Unlit, as yet, the globes do ponder
The breaking point upon each branch.
Like days before or weeks to follow,
I’m meandering through happenstance.
The fire burns golden back at home,
The coffee stands ready to perk its brew.
I could be safe within my chair
Yet this gauntlet I mosey through.
I have to walk the dog, you see—
Decision made while at the pound.
Every choice has consequences.
The dawn comes up to cardinal sound.
The breaking branch, the sideways step,
The slip and fall, the wet-nosed worry.
Waiting for the throb to dim, we sit and watch anemic snow.
We’ll make it home where the fire’s warm: There is no need to hurry.
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