January Morning by Hank Blackwell

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…

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