At times I feel that only I venture out... We all shut ourselves within our hooded woolen coats. Go away! We say!
Prospect Avenue carries few prospective dreams these cold days. Just salty cars and dodged potholes.
Lake Michigan sheds a trail of ice tears... tearing away... Leaving the harbor don't come back never a day.
The trees know better. Their roots bury low and radiate the remnants of summer sun heat. They know not of indoor days of home bound cabin fever. They face the sub degree breeze with no shivers.
Footprints in snow merely wander.
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