silence but for the scrape
of a blade across concrete
the icy crackle as boots
pressed into the dry powder
and cheeks rosy exposed
themselves to the artic
chill
 
how like a human
trying to control the
path, clearing it of
frosty debris
 
silence was all around
winter had descended
burying bushes
under white blankets
 
the breath expressed
with a misty vapor
exposing the ether
of alive
 
the sound, the smell
the touch, and the sight
was glorious for a moment
and felt like the waves of
nature's disposition conspiring
its sustainable existence
and all I have is a shovel