First Frost, Silent Wonder

When the first light of dawn appears, still somewhat shy;

The sky is like a pale and sleepy eye.

And,

The world stops as if to sigh,

The cold wind brings magic night—

And under the trees the earth so bright,

With breathless silver light,

Now each leaf, stiff and still,

Holds tightly great floss against its will.

Lace-like now is the grass,

Softly, pale, the sky embraces it;

And any green blade that dared

Before all-encompassing frost is wrapped up in garments.

The air is sharp, as if calling for the break,

Promising calm in distant bliss,

A whisper pure and full of grace,

That fires the world from its buried place.

A crispness rises from the earth,

Symbolized from frosted branches' girth

To

While twilight lingers far away.

And here'-it comes'

The first frost-like soft news;

It travels slowly on delicate shoes,

And paint stretches the pink-tinged bloom,

So bright they believe it is a message of light.

The sparkles in the breath of the morning

Are winter's icy kiss,

But tenderly mate with awe,

A beauteous

The world hums a mystery,

Winter narrates history.

Frozen lakes and snow-kissed fields,

Gone harvests, surrendered even love,

Yet in stillness, a song creeps,

To whom?

That calls to those who stop and see,

Historically Magic, wild, and free.

A silver smothering upon the trees,

Making frozen branches freeze

In time, as if the world had stopped

Ceremoniously to behold where frost doth crop.

A wind that kisses, soft and sweet,

And air that wraps around your feet;

It all is a quiet symphony,

Fleeting moments of harmony.