into the next with snow and more snow, not enough to stop life here, but
enough to create mischief in our yard. My car -- the old one -- sits unused,
door gaskets frozen against their frames. We argue over who will not drive
this day. Today and yesterday brought a more immediate paralysis by ice.
I wrote this poem without malice or picque. It is my gentle winter poem,
dedicated to members (both genders) of the US Postal Service.