Flurries of wind carries snow specks inside
as the man pulls the door shut.
Body shivering against the stale cold, toes curling,
he purses his lips in his small cocoon.
The raging storm separated by thin metal.
More parallel to Neptunian landscape,
the man’s vehicle seemed out of place
alongside what once was an old road.
With a vast wasteland of fields,
it is now an imagination of blizzard-blind eyes.
The man breaths into his gloved hands as
snow melts on eyelashes, and the sound is sharp;
it was the only noise that existed besides the whirling wind outside.
Humanity extinguished, Mother Nature has given up on this land,
leaving it to corpse as a frozen desert.
Inside, the man is obsessed with searching out.
Thick snow races down from mountainous clouds above,
like lily-white dancers curtsying to clouds.
Coldness steals his breath. The man fidgets to stay warm,
using outspread frosty fingertips to clear the glass.
Outside wistfully rages, twirling, spinning the world white.
A sharp contrast makes the man pause.
Winter has made everything desolate, yet it trekked.
A winter Moose prevailing against the swirling skirts,
striding through barren trees with frost covered antlers.
The man stared as winds banged on the door with a mighty roar.