It had snowed the night before, but it would all be gone by noon.
The low light, blue and dim, of the sun rising again, too damn soon.
Her boots clicked and clacked on the sidewalk, almost to her work.
Her hair blew in the chill wind, as both demons, angel, and Fae lurk.
She looked down the street, and saw the blue Christmas tree on Ayers.
The coming light, the cold air, festive lights, weight of unheard prayers.
What might she find this winter, as hope fled and the Fae were laughing.
She used to love winter, Christmas, her sister their, memories photographing.
A few cars on Clinch, but none on White, and the snow trapped all sound.
The cars on Clinch sounded like buzzing humming birds, sighing, hellbound.
When she got home she’d watch a silly TV show, maybe one about old ghosts.
Ghosts had stolen her kisses and hope, all these useless days were their boasts.