Smoke Stack in January

I opened the door, bracing against the cold

My hat and gloves and coat shelterd me from an icy arctic wind

I reached to close the door behind and cast the salt around to find a path to which my feet my bind

As I carefully tread the steps, I gazed up to a sight that was something to behold.

 

My eyes traced the stack, the dawn behind it, grey and metal, far above the little bungalows

Blowing steam rings in the air, that curled up with delight and danced pirouettes through the sky

Though my face grew numb, my eyes stood still, gazing at the dance from far below

Springtime was so far away, and with it shoots of life, but for the steam this is summer, the height of its July.

Reviews

[StoryTailor]

Curious. It makes me think. I like it. Good job.