A Winter Morning

by Susanna Hargreaves

This cold morning greets me
with miles of white perfection and shimmering gold
For a moment, the world is calm and safely hidden
I savor the smell of wood burning in the crisp cold air
And notice the sparkles from frozen icicles in the sunlight
Layered in soft wool, flannel
And a favorite berry red scarf,
my feet cautiously crunch along the path
in well worn boots.
I retrieve my tangible link to the outside world
and return to my house
to the smell of freshly brewed coffee.
Before I can read the blaring headline,
I’m surrounded by the clamor of happy children in pajamas,
an old hungry dog,
and a yawning husband
who are all eager for me to make pancakes
drenched with sweet maple syrup.
Today, the newspaper will be used for an art project.
I find my shawl and fuzzy slippers
And thankfully disappear into the oblivious world
of our home in New Hampshire.

(Susanna Hargreaves is a Troubadour reader from Hooksett, NH)

Snowplow

by Alfred Dumas

Sparks fly as metal meets rock.
Lights flash in a hypnotic dance.
Wings unfurled, whirlwinds appear and pass.

Pushing, pushing drift after drift
Mounds as high as your waist.
A chain of lights follow in twin mirrors
All with somewhere to go.

So-called comfortable seat
After hours of use seems like concrete.
Coffee helps, so does music.

Lights are bright but reflect in flakes,
Like a wall of moths in front of your face
Ever  moving, ever changing.

Night and day wear on and as time marches on,
The barn looms in sight
When mighty engine roar creates a silence
No thanks expected, but much deserved.

Will stand ready to meet the next war
Of winter’s onslaught.

(Alfred Dumas is a Troubadour reader from Dover, NH)