Fresh Snow
Shrill, shrieking screams Cold. Violent. Chilling to hear in the distance A sharp thud and another and a scream and more yelling I can’t understand…
As gentle flakes drift and sway in the silent wind
A murder of crows caw and bolt into flight as the next wail splits the silence.
Round white globes volley back and forth another thud another scream as I approach.
Fresh snow, two hands A shocking cold spray of force and wet hits your cheek and sticks to your glasses.
“Hey, no fair! I said not in the face.”