Snow hits
Against the paved roads in tints
Tints, with a clear whiteness
Which heightens
With falling mounds
Which sounds
With soft THUMPS!
Fresh footprints mark
In a straightforward path; in arcs
Pointing this way and that
Where all footprints lead; to be exact
Snow fragments across
The rooftops
Blending into the blackness
Remaining stacked in
Like pillows
The air remains numbed, cold
It causes one’s hands to feel weary and old
Bluish-purple reflecting
Through hands; infecting
Wirh a frosted numbness
The sky appears gray, soundless
As I make my way around this
Snowy path