the crunch of grey dead snowrotting snow underfoot

he disliked walking on its corpse

too cold to melt

once intact now its dragged pushed piled an unrecognisable mix of grey and clots of dirt sod sand and lumped gravel although he did enjoy its resurrection heated by the sun the snow melts runs off then freezes again at night people slip on its ice drop hurt themselves cars spin out crash  it seemed he was the only person who knew that melted dead snow refroze into ice

he knew irrefutablyhad evidence his fellow man was an idiot

that was when he was a boy  

education has worsened

more idiots

it was cold comfort knowing that he couldnt trust anyone other than himself
he didnt even bother to test the water

fool me once that old adage stopped dead right there

at least the rotting snow eventually melted and was absorbed or evaporated it would be refreshed next winter

it goes he hated this bit without saying  men would not

as a boy when snowstorms came in he went out

                                                   he imagined himself walking among log cabins smoking stone chimneys split rail fences large dullshining-from-within white canvas tents  and under the winds brisk breath he heard creeks seizing up with ice caked with snow and the lake they fed its edges moving center freezing snow dusting them snow dying without protest in the black quiet undulating water  

0550,  Twosday,  25  12. 18

0911,  Thursday,  11  6. 20