At a time, when all is still,
even the brimming scents of ice
have long lost their pungency,
the sky parts from night to day.

Unlike in the heat,
on frigid mornings
the sky melts into watercolors
of pinks and oranges and reds.
They melt into one another,
and appear to skim the ground.

The colors conceal the changing sun,
as it morphs into the strength of day.
The light of the sun
appears week and defenseless,
its only guard:
the imagery of a melting sorbet.

As the sun grows,
past its morning infancy,
The light beckons through the mist
and the wondrous colors
begin to disappear.
The pinks and oranges and reds,
fade into the light blue sky,
to be long lost
until the next morning nears.

And then when the dark blue sky,
with its stars and its moon,
wish again to retire,
the painting of lush color,
will once again repeat itself;
a beautiful winter mirage in the sky.