In the brittle grip of winter’s breath,
Where the frost bites sharp and the world feels deaf,
I walked the road, the air like glass,
Each step a crunch through the frozen grass.
The morning sky, a pale-gray slate,
Painted silence where shadows wait.
But there they stood—tall, proud, and bright—
Three traffic lights in the dawn’s dim light.
They blinked to life, a steady hum,
As if to say, See what we've become.
Green, red, and yellow in perfect bloom,
A splash of color in the winter gloom.
No cars to herd, no rush, no race,
Yet here they stood, in this quiet place.
A sentinel trio, orderly, stark,
Warding chaos from the cold and dark.
I paused a moment, breath like steam,
The world around me a waking dream.
What hand had placed them, shining and new,
In this sleepy town where time barely flew?
And onward I walked, to coffee's embrace,
The warmth of its promise, the comfort, the grace.
But behind me, the lights in the snow did gleam,
A curious beacon, a puzzling dream.
For on that freezing, dry morning air,
Something shifted—a presence there.
Not just a crossing, but something more,
A sign of change at the valley's core.
Alberto Ignacio