The Desert’s Pause

In the desert’s quiet, winter whispers low,

A foreign tongue where warm winds flow.

The saguaro’s spines, needles dipped in glass,

Catch a faint shimmer as night’s hours pass.

Frozen dust clings soft to the cholla’s sprawl,

While the agave bows beneath its crystal shawl.

In this still world, the snakes make no sound,

The flies do not swarm, scorpions are not found,

The lizards retreat beneath frigid earth,

While the desert lies hushed, awaiting rebirth.

In nearby homes, dawn coaxes slow,

Blankets pulled tight, reluctantly let go.

Feet touch the floor, the chill biting deep.

A pause, a shiver, then out from sleep.

Though the waking sun will wick the delight,

That fleeting frost spun gently in the night,

A trace of nostalgia will linger in the air,

A fragile echo of beauty so rare.