in the bleeeeeak mid-winter

It's not snowing, but there is a penetratingly grey chill occurring, so thought this poem was appropriate:

After sledding in the park's deep snow,
the two sons refuse to walk home.
The weary father trudges along
pulling them home
in the sparsely trafficked streets
snow still falling.

At times the kids fall off, laughing,
not wanting the day to end.

~

Hushed streets except for the
rumble of the subway.

Out of the corner of his eye
the father spies Orpheus

with guitar case, descending
the dark steps, off to reclaim lost love.

"City Scene in Snow" by Jonathan Greene, from Distillations and Siphonings.