In Front of Shen Hall

The window opens to the scenery outside.

The ground is powdered in snow from the fresh flurry fall.

The fall continues as the wind aids the cold.

The chill seeps in everything, and into my bones.

The snow lies scantily cleared,

As is always the case. Bits and pieces of bare ground

Are exposed and bordered by wet and slush and ice.

Footprints in the snow mark the paths people walk

When treading through the parking lot.

The deepest, ugliest, paths are the ones most followed.

For now however, no one walks this lot.

The trees are bare, just as trees in winter should.

Snow rests on every branch, just as snow in winter should.

The faintness of color in the trees conjure bleak feelings,

They look dead but they only slumber.

The few cars that traverse this lot in Shen

Carefully follow along the track-worn snow of the vehicles before.

The ones that lie parked wear a fluffy white cap

Waiting to be uncovered so that it may go

Wherever it goes.

Were there no fences or trash cans betraying its presence,

Who would know there lays a tennis court?

It waits under snow for the warmth of spring

Where it will once again be used for what it should.

A soul makes their way out to the parking lot now,

Out of Shen Hall and into the snow.

Leather bag in hand

Grey pea coat

Black leather gloves

He makes his way down the deepest, ugliest path of footprints that lay in front of Shen Hall.