The First Frost: Happy As A Lark
A short poem about the first frost
Ghostly breaths linger in the morning air after each exhale
While glassy stares escape the banks of watery accretions
Caused by icy inhales, not yet warmed, but somehow continue to prevail
Early birds, out of the nest, fluff themselves, occasionally over plumped in anticipation of the season
Creating cozy comfortable nestings, as ritual, the season holidays entail
Larks dot the landscape as decorations, like those adorning homes, among the sticks and withering leaves, giving beauty a picturesque reason
The season retold and recaptured as fairytale
Artesian wells, no longer the playgrounds of summer during this offseason
Instead, remain as silver screens and natural mirrors, where all else pales
Sweet songs are sung, calling on those who have not gone south, to unite, calling on the spirit of the legions
A secret seasonal pact, lending the four seasons to us, traded by afternoon, in my California home, to become a fleeting detail
That some how makes each morning to evening seem sweetened
crisper, while everything's lined with a sugary glitter on a grander scale
Sent via the Samsung Galaxy
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Comments (2)
Your poem is really lovely and creates such impactful visuals.
I love the first line especially, and the imagery of fluffed up birds 😁