After hours of brown fields and empty trees, the land was a little different.
Winter held on in snow banks in open defiance of spring.
Fog made the town silent, and rental houses were empty–
quiet, even for a Sunday morning,
Hands turned crimson as one lake emptied into the vast Other.
A lone fisherman and his dog sat motionless next to Big Red with still lines.
I nodded and offered a low good morning.
The ice moving past in the water made me think of retrograde.
Then, land’s end:
cold as far as I could see.
The concrete walkway stood over boulders stacked against time.
I walked out on the snow as the water lapped arrhythmically, oblivious.
I felt small.