Exothermic reactions make no effort to warm my house.  Instead they choose to paint the garage windows with scarce a hope of getting their artistic recognition.  Starving artists indeed.

Feed and fed more and more.

Every aspect of my daily scenes are transformed by the blinding light of the snow.  Even the dead, forgotten flower heads still loitering around in my garden adorn themselves in snow’s cold embrace.

After years of searching, endless days and sleepless nights I finally found it.  No markers or road signs alerting drivers to its existence; just the faint scent of pine drifting toward the road.  The Christmas Tree Graveyard.  If children saw their tree haphazardly tossed in amongst other trees without its due respect they’d be furious.  Used for a seasonal holiday to shade and protect multitudes of gifts while adorning rooms with its aroma, now a pile of mulch ready for spring and the promise of new growth.

If there ever was a drainage issue it has been long resolved.

Washing away the flames of today with the tears of the past.

One down, two to go.

Salt of the earth combating the snow of the north.

Orange cones, barrels, and blinking lights; a road waiting for direction.  No manpower to be found, only empty promises and old signs.

Hard to believe the warmth of January 2012 thus far.  Even the geese aren’t sure if they need to migrate this year.