Last night in bed I worried about waking

to such dire predictions of wind chilling

weather.

When I woke the cold came true, it hit

and hurt when I opened the door -

the dogs went out to pee. I bundled

myself, in layers of itchy, I want to/but wait

'til it's easier, except this December weather

is the start of uncomfortable - 

this warning must be followed outdoors, even

where I may be granted, along sheets of river iced

an act of grace, an absence of whipping

no ferocity blowing me back inside, so I may learn

to belong to a season of resistance, overcoming

the tread, like cement, a trail of uncrackable fact.

All text and photos copyright Kelly DuMar 2016