Bundled, I fuss at the need to pull off a glove to fish my keys. Even the new battery in my old sedan complains. I listen at first, unsure and then more optimistically as lights sprinkle the dash and the engine groans. My car’s tires and the snow-packed street together make a sound half Styrofoam, half crunch. Temperatures have been below freezing, day and night, for more than a week now.

The snow on the street is brown from days of dirty tires. The yards on either side are still white, decorated only with prints from stray snow boots, pointed at the elementary school two blocks away.

Frost collects inside on the windshield, with every breath.  So cold. The warmth of the engine is slow in coming.

pink light
on the mountain,
frozen morning