Winter Or A River: Edmonton, Sometimes

Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river. ~ Pablo Neruda

These are days when breath rises from beneath the snow. Life has gone underground. The rabbit tracks in the front yard confirm the transition. I relish the morning chill curled in our sheets, while the sky unloads another blanket.

Adjusting for the weather, I take on my surroundings the way a snow leopard mirrors the elements. There's a bridge and my shoulder blades arch up; a path and my fingers curl into paws. When a yellowy light foams across the horizon, my bones crack into branches. 

I can't promise more than what the day brings. Edmonton is like that, sometimes.