don’t you just love

Don’t you just love being the first one up in the morning?

A little before dawn when color seeps up the sky,

Nervous chickadees pecking at the last oasis of snow while those nasty ole hawks are fluffed out in their nests.

A sampling of time before my bears lumber from their rumpled dens in search of breakfast.

The moment where I haven’t lost the thread to pull us along.

I could have it every day if I tried a little bit harder.

I have these freckles.

A handful of years ago a woman told me only irresponsible people have freckles.

Looking down at my patined arms suprised she would say this to me, my eyebrows lifted.

Like waves they course down my arms, spray across my face, rivulets meander down my legs.

I suppose I could have stuck to the edges instead of laughing in the sun.

Scrunched in the shadows not loafed on the grass.

But locked up in how a lady should look sounds like a drag.

the snow bros.

Stamping off slugs of snow sliding from my boots, flexing fingers to keep warm

I am keeping an eagle eye on the ditch opposite.

Almost dark, two brothers are shovelling. Last years client now this years.

Entrepreneurs in snow pants, counting their eggs before they are hatched.

One will have a shopping spree at the hobby shop, the other imagines a savings overflow.

Finally, I spot them headlights bouncing.

A swagger in their step, the kind you only have with a pocketful of money.