addressed to everyone i call my friend

this isn't the first snow - it isn't

the one we spent at the bus stop together, sharing 

hand warmers and wishes for the bus to come,

which, eventually, it did

melting the frosty road beneath it

Inspired by the poem 'Fog' by Carl Sandburg.

He comes quietly, night after night,

soft four-toed footprints in the frosted grass.

He rolls over, and over, stretching