MORNING

The world was covered in ice. Branches had a hard coating of clear winter that was like tough plastic. You could chip at an antenna or other and sometimes this ice would fall away. It was difficult to walk and only the most salted of places had it so that one’s foot could touch the actual ground. What was man or animal to really do but wait it out? The radio show, late in the night, had spoken of far off forested places, of strange occurrences perhaps paranormal but possibly with prosaic explanations. There was much unknown. Was known was that there would be waiting for the temperature to rise, for the sun to come back from its sojourn to some other world or perhaps just behind opaque cloud cover. For a moment the sky, almost blackened, opened but in only in a small space. The morning star called quickly but could not make a whole sentence. It receded as fast as it had come. Peculiar to glance the upward air hours later, off-white all, and a wind carries itself continuously to threaten the icy trees, - jostling, jiving, jousting, juxtaposing our imagination of what spring could and should be. The world was for then covered in ice for an indeterminate time.