The crunch, the give,
the taste of it, illusory solid
melting in chilled fingers –
and networks of tracks
recording night traffic
of cats, dogs, foxes, birds:
in winter light, snow insulates
tendril branches, softens
outlines of house and road,
promises remembered adventure –
the sense, on waking early, that
wrapped up warm in hat and coat
we’d be exploring a temporary world.
