Janis Zroback

Posted over a year ago and has been featured many times since

Winter Walk

There is nothing here
 except the constant, looping clicks and caws 
of birds, lost in trees erased by white.

My sight condensed
 by each fresh, foggy breath,
 a hanging depth
 my head sinks through.

Nothing here
 but mulching steps,
 the soft snap of twigs long soaking,
 the sticky sound
 of car tire on wet road.
I am drenched 
by a sudden gang-up of water,
 a brief yawn of thunder far away.

There is nothing here
 and I am all wet ….John Goss. “Fog”

Thank you so much Paul and Lynda