January Morning by Hank Blackwell
January Morning
By Hank Blackwell
The sky is a clean, deep blue,
almost glacial,
and the cold has a sharp, steel edge
slicing through
my winter breathing.
Stepping cautiously
over driveway ice,
I begin my stroll
away from these
walls of solitude.
The quantum physics
of this ritual
remain unforgiving-
the correlation between
solitude and isolation.
These crisp, quiet steps
upon yesterday’s snow
relieve me
from the repetition
of remorse;
birdsong and rising sun
dissuade sadness…
Soon, the walk will end.
Re-entering my house,
I choose again
between gratitude and regret,
isolation and breath,
winter’s edge and
the slow, glacial melt…