it’s an icy grip that paints the window with frost so delicately
winter settles in blanketing all equally and without conscience
once a barrier the river has been conquered and is forgotten
everyone else is buried for the season, but one still roams free
the slate is wiped clean it’s a new life, including relearning to walk
straight as an arrow drawn to create order, lines are not natural
as the garden sleeps one non-conformist awakes to make a last stand
the changing seasons are a constant; also the only change we get
it’s a path well worn where we get lost in our thoughts not seeing what’s here
what we see today is not an old yesterday it is something new
uptown jack 