The grass, a final green beneath the ice, holds fast its lingering color.
Trees flare in brief morning light, liquid silver gleaming.
We crossed a line at some point, swallowing miles in the car, the sun leaping over and behind us, a huge white cat refusing to be called. Too cold for snow today, too cold for the brown man on his tractor plowing brown earth in a field by the side of the road, but the clouds fall like stones, splintering around us, and the snow and the man are there briefly, frosted to the window by my breath.