i was a pouty paleface this morning looking into a white city, a grump, no trump, fuck trump. but when i see mister making snow angels the grim feeling drifts like snow in updraft and i'm in wonderland, almost. sorry r. i was a grumpy bear this morning, and thank you for the snowpants. we're the same size.
we see the shoal man riding and ignore. that's what we do in hyde park which is ambiguously a city and a town and we preserve the best and worst of both, it's too small to avoid, so we ignore, we pretend, we're anonymous in the big city.
we saw the swamp in snow lovely reeds waving the cattails furry and the trash of yesterday whitened into opaque forms. 
on the way back we see rocket running around, i give him a hug and he gets too excited or jealous and chomps on mister so i grab him and hold him strong and look into his eyes and say, that's it rocket, no more of that, and he looked at me gratefully almost and then he was cool. 
and now i check with the eagles of decorah and get a sweet infusion of snowy nesting abiding love of egg and future bird. 

tell me why am i a skinny pale wizened baby of fifty-seven years.