Evening coming.
Air filled with the small flakes
of very cold snow -
that falls light, like powder.
Down the street,
steam rising from a chimney -
then vanishing in the cold, dry air.
Late winter,
most trees shed their leaves long ago.
One oak, across the street,
kept it's coat of red-brown leaves.
No birds, no squirrels -
they are all tucked away
to wait out the storm.
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