Fresh Snow

     In the night,the holidays folded up their tents and moved on. Snow fell while no one watched. Somewhere before dawn, it covered the tracks of the wagon wheels. Morning now. Snowing still.
     Sweep up the tinsel and pine needles. Turn away from that melancholy year. Look out the window at the snowy field spread before us. Deep and crisp and even. Even this—ready for the paths we’ll follow, and those we’ll forge.