early, in the blue morning,
with a dusting of wet snow
and bitter wind,
the crows make their way from their roost—
their cacophony of sound traveling on the falling,
thick flakes, from a height that renders them small black specks that i struggled to see, beyond the iciness that clung to my lashes
marbles and crystals,
oak tree shadows on an unmade bed,
snow drops and snow flakes
and red velvet cupcakes
on a happy winter afternoon
at first, it is heavy winter
and then it is lightly not winter–
lasting a tiny moment, allowing the crocuses and the snowdrops
to sing their siren songs of spring,
knowing all the while—
it will be winter through the window in March again
puppies in the snow
cold winter landscapes
greys and blues and soft amber horizons
a frosted palette of grays
reflects the sentiment of these winter days
fox tails in the night
the crows at dawn
shadows on the snow
a soft crunch under worn boots
deep deer tracks
and
a bracing wind
words drifted—
brittle and dry
the winter sun seeps through brittle leaves
and hope rises
my thoughts fell silently,
quietly–
in a soft, early morning hush
winter strips everything down, reduces and refines —
the silhouette, the shadow, a breaking dawn, a fading dusk,
the whisper and the howl
spanishwoods 