First Snow

A light lilts over
wet roads, the grass
barely covered.

Slow moments,
fast ones, some
carving a channel between.

She doesn’t know which
she wants to set
the rhythm of her day.

It’s not just hers.
Not really hers at all. Gratitude

comes in shades of blue,
or is it green to gold.
Soon, so soon, too soon,

in the dark,
she can’t tell.

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