I can see it now big blots of smudgy white drawn down. Flicker figure flicker.
It’s that eerie gray blue quarter light. The kind that comes spilling out of mailboxes in the waxing of December. Just a corner of yellow cover it up. The car rushes through on leaning wheels watch it the spiral.
Dusky smudges let it all in.
Despite the white out there steely resolve. Change not to skin but stripes and pilly purple zip that coat zip it up. I wish for squeaky snow but instead slightly slippery wet wood under the gathered tufts moving bits.
Mentally I’ve begun the turn around. I just haven’t got there yet.