Original Poetry

Ice Storm, December 2002

The ice is gone,
drained into the soils and rivers,
and we sit in the eerie silence it left behind.

Three days (and counting) without power,
layers of clothes only go so far to cut the chill of unheated winter air.
As the sunlight fades, candles surround us with a soft, dim glow—
not enough to read by, so
we huddle, silently, by the fire,
making us more cheerful than warm.

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