Cabin Fever

Despite the beauty of it all

and the curséd snow and wind

blown colder onto the negative

side of zero, I pull on my winter wear,

my hat pulled low and woolen mittens snug,

and, thus braced for the wind and cold,

step out into the snow, armed,

for the shoveling must be done,

an escape route, out of here, out of the cabin

and ensuing fever that would drive us mad,

trapped as we are, as we will be,

against the sanity of a winter storm

bent on keeping us here, shutting us in,

gnawing at our bones.