Christine K. Trease
Chilled currents of frozen water still the gray muddy river and the body it penetrates.
It sings not today, for its throng has been silenced by the encroaching solstice.
The stinging cold fondles the whale-like boats with glacial fingertips as it dulls my sight with its frigid tactility.
Leaves once crisp as the collar on a freshly starched shirt are now silent beneath my stride as my feet trudge across the boardwalk stirring the fog.
In vexed reply, it swirls upward with vengeance as