No Snow Angels


Deep in the empty pine forest
of the valley of the Chattahoochee
well below the Mason Dixon

snow flurries
snow flakes

the crystal droplets
beginning high in the clouds
warm upon descent
and end in puddles.

snow angels –
only muddy treads
mark my
journey on this planet.


About justbrinkley

poetry, flash fiction, prompts from a southern granny who should have been a writer.
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