This morning we woke to find the earth had a new skin.
Cold, opaque, so smooth we could not walk on it.
It had grown over the cars so we could not move them.
It was not as obdurate as thought, and wore thin by mid-afternoon.
The cars were wet, unskinned, and could be moved: tentative at first.
We coaxed ourselves along the roads, vigilant for lingering shreds.
Between tyre and tarmac is a place where friction makes a positive contribution.
Later, night brings a white hypnosis; in the headlights, falling, mellifluous, muffled, profuse, resolute.