White powder coats the ground,
the trees, the benches, and my nose.
The snow crunches under my feet,
As I walk towards the bench.
I reach out my mittened hand
And brush it across the worn wood.
The snow shimmers to the ground,
A mini flurry of my own making.
I sit down and feel the cold,
As it soaks through my being and chills me.
But all of my attention is on the pond.
On the surface of the water
Is dark, brooding trees.
The branches reach out as if to touch the shore,
Where the beach grass peaks out of the snow, like prairie dogs.
The trees peer down into the water, like Narcissus.
Looking into the depths of the icy water.
Looking at the silvery sky pooled in the ground at their feet.
Looking for the dark reflection of their own branches.
Looking for themselves.