Surge (2)
Zoomed-in during the blue morning to an electric candle lightbulb and snapped details. Snow falling like pale weightless sand. Feeling the raspy bite of the shovel, tossing the white around, earlier. Soon again, for it keeps fluttering down. Fading to ghosts the dark of cleaned walks and driveways. Coffee burnt my tongue tip. My fingers are cold. The air is snowglobing outside…then clearing. Then again. I feel kind of “drifty” too. Not part of the day. Unconnected. I don’t know why.