snow cone
Walking out the wood shed door into the remnants of a fresh january storm
my morning thoughts are clearing like the storm itself;
grey clouds slowly moving, snow lightly falling.
It only dropped six inches based on the amount of snow covering the propane tank,
slightly under what the forecaster had promised
but plenty enough for my modest shoveling chores later in the day.
I grew tired of bragging about big snow storms years ago,
my back attesting to more than my share of digging out…
this morning’s snow is the texture of frozen granulated sugar,
heavy against the boot as you walk along.
When I try to catch it with the toe of my boot the sugar snow
sprays and spreads like sand kicked at a frozen beach.
The dogs are also curious about the strange feel of the snow underfoot;
they barely sink into its depths and they can wash their faces
and roll on their backs with great glee.
I go back into the house and grab a box of slightly expired eggnog
left over from the recent holidays and I hollow out a small depression in the snow,
one for each dog and then slowly pour the thick golden liquid into it’s holder.
The dogs can hardly contain their delight,
winter snow cone.