Seldom Said

Saturday, December 04, 2010


My muscles voice their protest, creaking into life,
As, pulling on my running shoes, I brave the cold.
Not many other hearty fools have ventured out
And those few largely dragged by dogs or grim resolve.

The world, a half-blank page, awaits some restless hand
To ink back all the details lost beneath the snow.
The lake is gone, its depths consumed by hungry ice,
But the river flows on darkly under brooding skies.

My legs are still complaining, but my head is clear,
The murky haze of sleep dispelled by cleansing cold,
And as I turn for home the dark clouds start to lift
To hail the sun's arrival with a dainty blush.

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Inconsequential thoughts rarely worth muttering out loud