Late afternoon at Boots Adams Park

     three hundreds yards from where I sit
     just down the street to the east
     seven or eight houses down from mine
lies a barren, pristine white field

My own little public
     hundred acre woods
     except it is significantly smaller
     and there are but few trees and other flora
but otherwise, exactly the same

We approached it in late afternoon
     while the snow was still falling
     and the cold wind blew
     and the grey sky above
the barren, pristine, snow-covered field

Across the field we can see a small
     rabbit sticking his head up over the ridge
     wondering where all the dead grass has gone
     and where are all the leaves
that only yesterday had covered everything

The blanket of snow, untouched as of yet
     by groups of screaming kids
     by gangs of bothersome teenagers
     by parents and grandparents
watching their kids slide down the hill

And beyond the wrought iron fence on the other side
     silent foggy windows of townhomes blasting heat
     cars and trucks unmoving, covered in snow
     a dog yipping somewhere past that
wanting to come out to play

And as the snow lets up and the wind dies down
     leaving the snow surface of the field
     smooth and almost-glassy, as if
     some great broom in the sky
had taken one last swoosh across the landscape

We stand on the edge of the sidewalk
     and he pulls, impatiently, expectantly
     in the late December late afternoon
     so I reach down to unclip leash from collar
and he bolts off to teach the rabbit the error of his ways

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