The end of summer came with a crash,
and winter was colder,
colder and deeper,
than I ever expected
winter to be. In this winter,
I crossed the ice
over deep water. I could
clearly sense the bottomless dark
under my feet, and the thin layer
of brittle ice holding me up. Now,
as I reach the far shore
and spring approaches, I look back
over my shoulder, and I see
the ice on which I have so lately,
so confidently trod, shattering
behind me into the thinnest
of slivers, and the hungry water
swallowing them. And I take
a deep breath, turn my face
to the shore, and hope
I can climb the bank.