Tonight brought glorious cold augmented by the clear sky and distant stars. Tree limbs still sheathed in ice cracked in a wind's sway as would the rope of a tire swing almost too old to bear a child consumed with oblivious joy.
There exists a peace in the close crunch of snow underfoot and breath made visible, and the trees, if you can find them, would be your audience frozen in attentiveness. Come Spring they will finally take a breath
We need it soon. Too many plastic bags, the extent of our wildlife, have come to roost and settle these limbs.
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