Hi Steemit!
Here is my second offering. Enjoy!
My breath escapes in a cloud and moves over
the glistering valley. Each inch touched with frost
as with grace. There is so much air here, clean
blue air. The snow is two day's old, but still crisp.
Cars remain parked. We've run out of grit -
it's a country-wide problem. My father always
took a rock as a souvenir of his long walks. So,
on the summit, I reach and pluck the day-moon
from the sky and pocket it, then begin my descent.
