The Morning Humbug

Sometime over night
the white appeared
so that as I walk to the box
to pick up the morning paper
I hear the telltale scrunch,
scrunch, scrunch
of my feet contacting
the bleached ground.
The sound of the snow
slightly more noticeable
than the cold upon my face.
Winter's morning touches
seemingly here
to awaken me
who might prefer coffee
to shrug off
the morning humbug.