©Kathleen Moors
Biting wind
leaves
an open field,
a blanket of
crusted waves.
White undulating
over an expanse
of frozen brown grass.
Down in the flats
the white is cake icing,
untouched, pure,
slathered onto
a sheet of dark ice.
I have to squint my eyes.
A tear runs down my cheek,
burning.
