Like a soft blanket that

Settles over fields,

Slowly falling down,

Over the weight of wind—

The morning dawns.

Bright and early,

The first bird calls,

The curtains drawn,

The breathing still.

Like shimmery mirrors that

Glint under clouds,

Bright as sunshine,

Under overcast skies,

Within the the windows casting—

The morning light.

Bright and early,

The first dog howls,

The curtains drawn,

Breathing still.

Like sewed patterns on leafy fingers,

A silver-lined world,

The sky a great mast,

Curling with wind,

Breathing with earth—

Ice crystals.

Prickly and new,

The wind smells fresh,

The pine-cone falling,

Cricktey crack

—Into the soft new snow.