I wrote this after an interesting encounter on my ride home tonight.

Maybe it will make sense to someone other than me.



To my winter brethren


are we so Great in number
that No look
No nod
No smile
No wink of recognition
should pass between us?

I see You
a phosphorescent patch of yellow
against a setting sun
Your tempo matching mine
quick pulse with each revolution
stoic shoulders to the northwest wind

I lean in thighs pressing down
A rounded staccato beat
just a hair faster now
You, my double, my twin
unbeknownst pursued
a steel steed gliding over ice

what is Your story
who are You
why are You too
rolling along over white
a dose of warmth
wrapped in fibre layers

I pull within a grasp
our carbide tips rat a tatting
on frozen chalk marked pavement
tracking straight across gnarled marble
pathways to our huddled homes
ready to reward our ride

"Evening", says I
Not quite
But almost or t'will be soon enough
I have miles to go before I sleep
And You
eyes set hard against the wind

Nothing
The reply is empty
perhaps some enchanted song
Lies under that muffled headdress
(so like my own)
some ear plugged accompaniment

my eyes search for yours
swaddled like a bedouin prince
a narrow gap in black
framing determined orbs
in the fading light of dusk
they catch a moment

are You like Me
a look
a nod
a smile
a wink of recognition unreturned
Nothing

in this land of zeros
no heat
now warmed
by the chase
and the effort to pull away
left chilled

You are that me
in dependent s e p e r a t e
That sees no likeness
in a mirror of ice
A cold shoulder
to an even colder world

are we so Great in number
that No look
No nod
No smile
No wink of recognition
should pass between us?