A Winter’s Trail

When the snow falls, and soon after it's done,
I will admit, a great time for a run.
The softness of stride, the muffled-out noise,
Perfect to run, to savor its joys.
The wind how it howls, and tickles the skin,
Makes one feel sad, for those who slept in.

But after a day, or maybe it's two,
The lightness of snow is no longer new.
The surface gets hard; prints from many a foot,
It gets tough to know where your next step to put.

You find yourself suddenly thrust in mid-air,
Wondering just how it was that you ended up there.
Or your foot gets stuck and your ankle gets bent,
Leaving you non-running time during which to repent.

So as for me when that snow turns to ice,
Plowed roads and the treadmill will have to suffice.

This responds to my friend Sham's post after a day at the Rockies.