Snow coats and rubber boots line the porticos
No luck in a dry walk down the hill
Weathered homes, some reclaimed by time and turnover
String lights and wreaths on their doors
End stretch of the year
Portraits of washed-out shake and peeling shutter boards
On loop, characters move in and out of frame
Later on they're still lives, rich, dark, and deep
For now, there's only a glow
Shadows through the shades
Head down, the snow falls even harder now
Three blocks of icy roads and I am finally there
Sit down as the open mic starts packing up
Window looking out to the street
As the snow piles up