Clarification

A dust of snow lies like  lint across  the landscape

landing lightly upon  wooden steps and  porch,

dusting  symbols of the season.

"Which season?" you ask. . .

The season of life.

 Its undefined edges

 inter-mingled like egg with nog,

legs swinging free in the evening air 

one moment,

then shivering beneath an aged coat 

the next.

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