Inching glaciers of smoke

nudge a thinly mingled sky

patched to reluctant blues.

Two pigmy Cessnas cross like listless gnats.

It's only early afternoon

but the sun's begun to wither.

The cul de sac's a ring of crystal,

thin skin of crusted snow;

across the way first Christmas pinnings

through ice tucked windows;

a dog's bark echoes.