Hard cases

I crouch beside the fire ring with hands outstretched, doggedly seeking warmth from its circle of snow.

As the snowpack melts, little dark targets appear on the laurel leaves. I call it the coal pox. Power plants a hundred miles to the west seed the clouds with nitric & sulfuric acid. The rain burns & the snow burns, too. The soil turns toxic with heavy metals.

A feral housecat walks a crooked mile through the woods, sidestepping the patches of old snow. Long after she passes, a squirrel continues to scold, his tail on the branch behind him like a furious mime or a question mark come quivering to life.