April 17, 2008

It’s one of those days
when the cold, fog-dented sky
won’t let you see even down
to the barn from the house.

On days like this
the silvered grey air
sticks in your lungs
like campfire marshmallows.

The cold of it slicks off
your fingernails. And the cows
in the barn loafing area
are hunched nearly into the letter C.

Only the Indian Runner ducks seem
to welcome this damp air.
Eating cracked corn & sunflower seeds
washed down by gulps of fog.

by Ed Higgins

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