a shoreline gets
pushed up with
softwoods and sand
the still life foam
frozen in a
drunken scrawl
makes for
a stern breakwater.

walking past
paused moments
of change now
unchaging until
i can see
that others have
travelled along
this path- their
bootmarks and litter
dot the snow.

i curse a little
as i step in
someone elses
footfalls. a
cold wet alarm
surprises me
and my wake leaves
paper thin
floes to float
helplessly on
ruddy water.

trying to pull
up a popcan
ravages a pristine
strip of snow and
as i pack it up
i wonder if i
could put it back?
reset the crust,
retrace my steps,
return to the
i know the
frozen coating
will wet my
other gear.
other bits
of debris are
within reach.
how deep are
they rooted?