Times like now when the snow has given the town its first taste of winter, this is when the talking starts. Conversation before becoming cabin-bound for the next few months. Get all the advice possible. Learn a few things. Make lists. Fill up on something for the lonely times. Give the old dreams some new playmates.


These days the air is delicate. It breaks easily for words. The summer’s frost between two at the bar melts. With options dwindling, any talk will do.


Didn’t know where to begin.

Didn’t know where this might go.

Didn’t know

Didn’t ask


Town is one thing. Home is another.  The two are governed by different dictates. Faces worn for the world slip off once threshold is crossed.


The smiles brought to town on these cold days are discarded  back home where the position in this world is further understood. In the space of a room with snow pressing its cold in, into the skin, the situation is solidified.


Winter will be another loss.  Hope will have to be held for another season.


The home. The cabin is stocked as meager as what could be afforded. The walls are for one but more would be merrier. Bar is further than should be traveled by foot. Risky, buzzed on icy road, bad tires.


Company is imaginary once again.


These days when the snow lets up. Gives the world a break and town feels close again. It’s time to take chances again.


Play the game of talk too much or say too little. Everybody’s got loneliness on the mind but everybody’s also getting used to it then the winter will be through and cold will be a part of the town again. Ice between everyone until the chill returns to shock. Warm one to another. Warn one of solitude. Bring together for a moment or more. Always less than needed.


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