Ice covers the surface of the birdbath.
The sparrows have no skates.
Nothing disappears.
It is blanketed under snow.
In the colder months I write more
about long scarves and mittens.
The street lights are brighter
reflecting up toward the sky.
A stranger passes by with shovel.
Ten bucks to clear the walkway.
I finger the smoothed object of a snowball
and test my arm’s accuracy on a telephone pole.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney
Umflop 