Winter Road
Jan 14 2022
The back road
that leads from my place
is all pot-holed and cracked
and bone-rattling washboard.
But after the storm
and after the plough has passed
it's suddenly transformed,
a smoothly manicured motorway
paved with snow.
Levelled
by the massive steel blade
that powers through unstoppably.
That has churned up two imposing bulwarks,
compacted snow, chest high
enclosing it
like solid guardrails.
Cruising between them
I feel like a blinkered animal,
no distractions
except for the road
snaking out ahead.
Or like a slot car, fixed to the track
steering nimbly through its curves.
This is the beauty of winter,
fresh snow
concealing all our sins,
transmuting the world
into a democracy of white.
But even absolved
we're still tempted by speed.
Because inviting as it is
tires slip,
spinning out of control
fish-tailing into the ditch.
A beautiful road, but deceptive.
As if we didn't already know
that appearances mislead
and beauty can't be trusted.
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