Gently

Snow perches on the tree limbs like icing on a cake

Weighing down the world with fluff

Casting aspersions onto walkways, steps

We cannot watch our carefully placed feet enough

Lest we slip and fall, breaking something

Perhaps this is what it’s like to be old

Always worrying about where to put our feet

And gathering up our belongings

To make sure we have not forgotten something

As we go out into the world

But then, where would we go, anyway

Perhaps just to the mailbox and back

Or finding a way to the grocery store

Better to just wrap up in a blanket and sit

Rocking in the rocking chair, gently

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