Descending

Nov 8 2014

The road winds down toward the shore,
passing through warmer air
as the lake draws closer.

From above
you'd see a small blue car, beetling along
following its cone of light.
And a thin ribbon of road
snaking through the tree-tops.

Going from white to dark,
as hard snow
turns soft and sloppy
and then to rain,
wipers thwacking, thwopping
the hum of heat.
Blades encrusted with ice, tires skating
on pavement slick with sleet.

But the city is bright, and bustling
the highway wide.
Rain-black roads, reflecting light,

cars starting and stopping

in orderly lines.
A half-hour drive
that might be a thousand miles
from my winter night
in its still white blanket.
Or a journey through time
back to fall.

From the virgin snow
I've left behind.
Marred only by 2 parallel tracks, heading out,
the surface cut
by ruled edges
tread sharply impressed.
A precise footprint
you could forensically match
with me.

The evidence relentlessly vanishing
as flakes steadily fall.
As if there had been
no comings and goings.
The place abandoned to nature,
lost

in a mountain of snow.

The micro-climate here is in sharp contrast to the city: warmer days and cooler nights in summer; colder all winter. This is a combination of the city's heat island effect, the moderating influence of the big lake, and my elevation. At this time of year, the less than 30 minute drive takes you from winter back into fall: as much time travel as distance. And when there's precipitation, takes you through this shifting transition zone of treacherous road.