On the White Christmas Day
instead of going out for a walk early in the morning.
I shoveled snow on my driveway.
I sometimes stopped to catch a breath.
I looked around,
the sky was gray.
the ground was white.
earth to heaven,
everything was fully covered
by a unique white and gray blanket.
the city looked as if it were a ghost town.
roads were nearly deserted.
once in awhile,
a lone vehicle crawled by.
it was abnormally quiet
like in a cemetery
from metal blade scraping on frosty asphalt
when a snow-plow truck quickly rumbled by.
the air was fresh
but it was too condensed for the lungs
and also too chilly for the fingers.
shoveling snow ain’t an easy task
for old folks
it would be the fair price
we must pay for our fancy dream of a white Christmas.
Thao Chuong Tran Quoc Viet