Shovel in hand

in the endless white

I look around at

New Year morn

empty streets

barren driveways

sans waving neighbors

or dressed up snow people in front/back yards

forlorn smoke curling from home chimneys

only movement in the uncolored stillness

is this New Year morn

a waste or wonder land

with more snow to clear

more muscle aches to address

more time to spend

than same time last year

then most of this driveway

was sheltered with parked cars

of visiting near and dear

meaning less disarray to shovel

then muscles flexed regularly

were supple enough

meaning heavyweight hurdles could be handled

then timetables harnessed time

meaning a lot was my bidding.

 

Shovel in hand

in the endless white

now I only certify the obvious

growing old in body-mind

learning loss of life-dream

knowing I don’t know much

except evolution is on

nature and humans

still have to vie for survival,

snowflakes melting on my nose and eyelashes

I find

my favorite things are people

their real touch

to transform this New Year morn

from a winter waste

to a wonderland.

 

now more muscle aches to certify

the passage of a year like no other.

— IndRani Modal