The day after it snowed
I couldn’t sleep.

When it started
to become light

I went for a walk.
I put on

several layers
of black clothes

so that I
could stand

out from the
whitewashed places,

the familiar
painted over.

I went
out the gate, out

of the village,
through and

out of the woods
into the fields

by the lake.
My steps sank

in, leaving
an outline

of my route.
I didn’t stick

to the footpaths,
like you have to

in summer when
the crops are high

or when the earth
is ploughed.

The lake was frozen
over like last year

and the year before,
the bench

that you sat on
still there.

You wore
a white coat

and a bright
coloured hat.

I didn’t sit.
I couldn’t

stay still
that long

in the cold.
I had to

walk on,
to keep warm.