Inspired by a night time walk back from the library in 4 inches of fresh powder covering the sidewalks and yards of Beloit. It’s supposed to be -20 degrees here tomorrow. I’ve never felt that cold before, but I’m excited. I hear even eyelashes can freeze!
She walked home.
Her old bones harkened
the familiar complaints of a cold snap.
Sharp inhale, icey burn in her nose,
at the back of the throat, entering her lungs
which sent the chill out in every molecule of her bloodstream.
Even her insides knew the wind of winters like this one.
She walked fast
through drifting snow dunes
which shifted on the sidewalk
even before she reached them.
She imagined she was back in the desert
where sand caked the creases of her eyelids
and people smelled like salt from a non-existant ocean.
Her black boots squeaked in the new
and freshly pressed snowfall glittering beneath her.
She walked faster
until she was running.
Her boots weighed her every step
but she bounded forward
on suprised and youthful springs.
Powder fluffed up in a cloud of fairy dust
at her heels so her ecstatic and frigid energy
almost caused her to exclaim at the craziness of it all,
at the ridiculous sight of an old woman
playing in the snow like a child.