Scrunch! Scrunch! Scrunch!
Sounds of sneakers grinding paths of frosty, fresh, powder from the heavens.
Biting winds sting, exposing bridge of nose to tree aerobics, with flailing branches.
Every step is a daunting dare; both exciting and telling.
She should be home, nesting under mauve-colored covers,
holding a steaming cup of cocoa, fixating on the tapestry of stark white
bellowing the window, like a live painting with a lonely audience.
Instead, she tramples on, evoking an abandoned warrior on a vast battlefield of seasonal treats, begging for surrender to sloshy mounds.
Slipping and sliding, almost falling will be the action of the day.
She wants to hit the ground hard, and maybe crack open some parts
just to make sure her blood supply flows.
There’s no way of telling because breathing is foolery.
Even the dead can spare mighty gasps, while on the fringe
of colliding worlds.
Balancing acts of not quite letting go, and avoiding grinning tires
of an approaching vehicle saddens her, with avalanche of emotions.
It’s the trickery of how decisions to stay alive are made…
