Fill in Your Own Title

It's chilly.
Layered, I pull on
fingerless gloves with
the mitten top.
Sliding the black band
over my head phones
they are already playing
Tune Yards shuffling
to Temper Trap.
I didn't say we liked
the same music;
we probably don't.
But we are under
the same sun
that is blinding
and beautiful
causing drivers
to move with their hand
in a permanent high five
position.
I give them an imaginary
smack as they go by
spattering their mud
on my shoes
and spraying me with gravel.
My eyes are lit
with brightness that has been
sleeping.
While the snow
has been mounting
now defeated by warmth
she looks like road kill.
As I go past, occasionally
I take ballet steps across her
and daintily step to the ground
as though reaching for
the princes hand
outstretched for me.
But no, I am alone
and honestly
glad to be
with the puddles
and browning snow.
The bits of life that
are revealing themselves
and birds that chirp
on this sunlit run.