They’ve brined the streets,

Dusted the face of the asphalt with white.

The frozen wind is whipping, tree canopies tipping,

White brick houses standing steady and ready

for snow.

---

They’ve brined the streets,

Pale blue crystals winking at the sun.

The dogs are all indoors, sleeping on the floors,

Paws down in the sun, dreaming begun

Of who knows.

---

They’ve brined the streets,

Left the salt to its sanctity.

It drifts here and there, dulling the glare

As I’m looking down, taking in the soft sound

of hope.