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A long breath of cold air
rattles through my lungs,
winter in the north has
run it’s ups and downs,
trending through the single
digits into territory only in the
negatives.
Postcards from the south arrive
via text and tweet,
the condolences for snow and frigid cold
somewhat pitying and raw.
To see the sun rise over the newest
of crystals creates a canvas for the 
night time dramas of survival
that brush so closely I can touch them.
It is difficult to describe,
this wild sense of edges left
as tracks in the snow.  
Another log on the fire marks
the ever advancing sunset,
and I marvel at what needs to 
be lived to be understood.
Categories: Poetry