The Ice has concurred the open road,
its so cold but we still roll.
Open ended roads leading no where.
Heeding warnings from yellow neon lights.
We slow but continue to roll,
down an open ended road.
Salt sputters under friction,
licking at our windshield.
Angered by the taste it clicks,
and clicks as it softly hits.
The road is slick and white.
sliding in clear solid puddles,
of warmer seasons ending,
and traveling to a new year.
Our road trip has ended,
As we dismount our carriage I stop to kick the tires.
"Good Job" I whisper white wind lisping from my lips.
"Glad I went to Tire Depot".
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